


The Alpha, The Omega and The Istar

by Peanutbuttertoast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Multi, Pureblood Hermione Granger, Unconventional A/B/O Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbuttertoast/pseuds/Peanutbuttertoast
Summary: Upon the end of the War, Hermione returns home only to discover that her life is about to take several unexpected turns, the most complicated of which, is discovering she is betrothed to Draco Malfoy.  No one is happy with the discovery, least of all her best friend, Harry.  Nor with the ramifications of an old Malfoy family Prophecy, coming into play.  Old magicks are awakened, ancient powers shared, and new discoveries made.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 189
Kudos: 436





	1. Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my unconventional take on the A/B/O dynamic. It will be clear as the story progresses, what I have in mind. It is a triad fanfic, my first ever. There are some similar plots to my other stories, but I started writing about the same time as Loves Labour Found...and held off posting it, due to certain similarities. It’s completed, and I’ll be posting a chapter a week. Reviews are always welcome. This is going to get angsty and steamy...so be forewarned. 
> 
> Characters don’t belong to me, they are the sole property of JK Rowling. Any names utilized in this fanfic, bear no resemblance to real people...artistic license and all that nonsense!

In the aftermath of the battle, Hermione felt herself watching those who’d survived with a heavy heart. There was a time, she’d seriously wondered if this day would happen; that Harry would emerge victorious, but now that it was here—she was having a heard time reconciling it all.

Harry was sitting with Ginny and Ron...all the Weasley’s were there actually; comforting each other after the death of one of their own. Fred was _gone_ , and Hermione had to wonder how George—his twin and other half—would survive the ensuing days and weeks to come. 

Her gaze then fell to Remus and Tonks—who in death were still side by side. Shaking her head in despair—she had to wonder what would become of little Teddy Lupin. The boy was now an orphan, much like Harry had been. 

The irony was almost too much to bear. 

Luna was sitting with Neville, who proudly had the Sword of Gryffindor leaning against his leg as he wrapped his arm around the willowy blonde witch—the two clearly now a couple. 

Seamus and Dean were chatting with Aberforth Dumbledore whilst Minerva, Flitwick and Slughorn were drinking tea and despite looking worse for wear—seemed in relatively good spirits. 

Her perusal stopped short on a small family of three crowded into the corner—shocks of white blonde hair were reluctantly acknowledged in her peripheral view, and she felt her gut clench at the unwelcome sight. The Malfoy Family had defected at the end, and it was Narcissa Malfoy’s lie that had saved Harry—but it wasn’t like anyone really seemed to want them there. 

For a split second, her gaze locked with the wintry grey of the youngest Malfoy, but before she could react—she felt a tap on her shoulder. 

Turning, she immediately noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there, his expression filled with concern. 

“It’s time to _leave_ , Miss Granger.”

She sighed, ignoring the pointed stare from her least favorite wizard as she nodded slowly. 

“I _suppose_ it is.”

“Do you have everything?”

“I have what I need.”

Hermione turned to follow the older wizard, whom in the immediate aftermath of the battle, had been sworn in as the new interim Minister for Magic. As she made her way out towards the courtyard, her shoulders hunched in apprehension for what was to come. Her disappearance hadn’t been planned, nor had her Father been privy to her plans. She had always _known_ that there was only one choice she could’ve made under the circumstances, but that didn’t make it any easier to know how livid her Father would be with her, once she returned home. 

“Did Dumbledore?”

“He _did_.” Kingsley nodded. “I was made secret keeper after he was killed.”

Staring back over her shoulder, she didn’t immediately notice anyone watching her leaving, until she saw Malfoy staring at her—his expression completely devoid of emotion. 

Ignoring the uneasy sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach, she took Kingsley’s proffered arm and felt the pull of apparition take her away and back to the life she’d had before Hogwarts—before Hermione Granger became whom she was now. 

When she reappeared, the first thing she noticed were the starkness of the white walls of her Father’s study and the next thing she noticed, was him sitting behind his desk—his dark blue eyes fixated on her momentarily, before he took in her ragged appearance and she could see his eyes narrowing, as his nostrils flared in anger. 

When he stood up, all six feet of him was brimming with aggrieved agitation—but being the ever polite and well-bred man he was, he nodded to Kingsley, who bowed formally in greeting. 

“Your Grace.”

“You’re not _whom_ I was expecting to be escorting my daughter.” Her father bit out evenly. 

“No, Your Grace.”

His mouth thinning in ire, Hermione just stood there quietly waiting to be addressed—instinctively knowing from years of training, she wasn’t to speak until her Father spoke to her directly. 

When his eyes locked with hers, she curtsied respectfully but all her father did was scoff. 

“You’ve been gone for nearly a year, young lady. _No word, no warning—gone!”_

“I know, Sir.”

“You _know?_ Did you also _know_ how difficult it was to explain why my daughter, and _heir_ —was no where to be found for the past nine months!”

“Father...”

“So _now_ I’m your Father? I never should’ve allowed you to attend that _infernal_ school!”

The Duke turned to Shacklebolt, and sighed heavily. “I take it this Riddle person is _finally_ dead?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The Duke nodded and turned his attention back to his only child. “Hermione, you will go upstairs and get cleaned up. I will send for the family Healer to attend to you.”

“Of course, Father.”

“You may go, now. I wish to speak with this gentleman, alone.”

She nodded sadly and went to leave her Father’s study, but before she could do so, Kingsley said softly, “I can remove the charm, Your Grace.”

“Ah yes, the _charm_.”

She watched as her Father pulled out his own wand and waved it over her, and while her appearance remained unaltered for the most part—it would now allow all within the magical world to recognize her for whom she _truly_ was. 

It was an ingenious piece of magic, much like a hybrid of the _notice me not charm combined with a Fidelius,_ that would allow someone to hide in plain sight. 

“You may _go_.” Her Father huffed, and she nodded again and quickly made her way along the hallways of her ancestral home as she walked up the stairs towards her suite of rooms. 

When she got there, it wasn’t long before her Family Healer arrived. 

“My Lady.” The woman curtsied respectfully, and Hermione sighed. 

“Hello, Healer Bramble.”

Merry Bramble had been her Healer since she was a child. Her Mother had passed when she was ten, from mysterious circumstances. Her Mother’s name was Angelique and Hermione had been given her name as well. Her full name was Hermione Angelique Jean. The surname Granger, belonging to the Dagworth-Granger side of her family, on her Mother’s side. 

Her Father however, was the Duke Pierre Alphonse—the legitimate heir, to the Throne of France. 

Unlike the British Royal Family, the French noblesse had retained its magic within its lineage. The Alphonse family was the oldest of those that remained and against his better judgement, the Duke had allowed his only child to attend Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons, at the insistence of Albus Dumbledore. 

“Let us see what we’re dealing with.” Healer Bramble said kindly. 

Hermione undressed and was grateful when her Healer didn’t react to the scars that now were visible. She just tutted and waved her wand, casting several diagnostic charms before pulling something from her medical bag. 

The jar had a pinkish paste inside, and smelled of several aromas—some of them she still didn’t recognize. But when the Healer placed the paste on her neck, she hissed at the burning sensation and then there was a slight numbing before the skin cooled. Then she turned to the mirror, sighing in relief when she noticed the red scar around her throat fading.

“That paste is _amazing_.” She hummed, lifting her finger to where the scar that Dolohov had left her with after the incident in the Department of Mysteries, had once been—and was now only slightly visible to the naked eye. 

Soon, these new scars too, would be a bad memory.

“It’s a closely held secret of your family, My Lady.”

She watched carefully as Healer Bramble applied the paste liberally on the _mudblood_ scar, and that too—began to slowly disappear.

“You will need to place the paste on the scars every evening for the next few weeks until they are faded.”

“Fine.” She took the jar and nodded her thanks. “He’s very angry with me.”

“As he _should_ be. I understand that you felt the need to stand by Mr. Potter, but if you had been killed—your Father would’ve lost _everything_ , My Lady.”

“I know.” She sighed in defeat. “I just don’t know how my friends are going to take the truth. It wasn’t exactly my idea to keep my full identity from them. I suppose I should’ve said something.”

“It was not your place to do so.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.”

At that moment, Harry’s _patronus_ burst into the room. “Hermione, where _are_ you? You left the castle and apparently Malfoy said you left with Kingsley. Is everything alright?”

Flicking her wand, Hermione’s otter swirled into existence and landed on her shoulder. 

“I’m _fine_ , Harry. I can’t explain right now, but I’ll contact you soon. Love you.”

The otter nuzzled her cheek before it moved out of the room and on its way to deliver the message. 

Healer Bramble placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You should get some rest. I will let your Father know of your condition, and will be back to check on you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Merry.”

“You’re welcome, My Lady.”

Hermione decided to go and take a bath. It had been a long time since she’d had a proper one. Walking into her en suite, she smiled softly at the large brass claw foot tub and opened the valve to let the steaming water fill the basin. Adding some of her favorite bath salts, she tentatively checked the temperature before sliding into the water and sighed in pleasure. 

As she soaked her aches and pains away, she had to admit it was good to be home. As angry as her Father was with her, she knew it was because he loved her. He wasn’t an overly emotional man, and had allowed her to spend time with her Mother’s cousins, who were like second parents to her. He had also encouraged her spending time in the Muggle World, and despite his heritage and that of her biological mother, both didn’t believe in blood purity—at least not in the overt sense. 

They’d always felt that knowledge was what was important. 

Her Father had wanted her to attend Beauxbatons, as both he and her Mother had, but Hermione’s magic had expressed on British soil, and Dumbledore had been alerted when Hermione’s name had appeared on the Hogwarts registry. He’d visited her Father at their secondary home in London, and had encouraged him to consider allowing her to attend Hogwarts. Her Father had been _very_ reluctant, as he had suspected that Voldemort would return, and didn’t want his only child anywhere near that reality. 

Dumbledore had brought forth the idea to have her sorted as a Muggleborn, which Pierre had felt _quite_ unnecessary...

...at _first_. 

Then her Mother had been killed right after her tenth birthday. 

No one knew knew whom had done the deed, but there were some rumblings within the Muggle and Magical world of political unrest in France, and there were cries of protest about the current Muggle government. There was also an underground movement to restore the French nobility, (much in the way the British Crown was currently) but with more power given to the Monarch, and the Royalists _had_ been making headway—that was until her mother was killed. 

That had been the impetus for her Father allowing Dumbledore’s plan to move forward, and she had agreed only inasmuch, because she’d desperately wanted to attend school. 

Now that the war was over, she would have to talk to her Father about whether or not he would allow her to take her NEWTS. She had no desire to return to Hogwarts, but she did want to finish her studies and she knew her Father would want her to stay in France. 

Getting out of her tub, she dried off and went to get dressed in some sleeper clothes, and as she was about to climb into bed—there was a light knocking on her door. 

“Come in.”

When the door opened, her Father stood at the threshold and took in her appearance briefly before he entered with purpose—eventually sitting down at the edge of her bed. 

“You look _better_.” His voice was still brisk, but his expression had softened slightly. 

“It’s amazing what a proper bath can do.” 

His lips quirked up slightly, before he sighed in resignation. “I’m afraid I should perhaps, apologize for my outburst earlier.”

“No, Papa. You have every right to be angry with me. I didn’t tell you I’d left. I obliviated our family, and sent them away because I knew they’d be targeted.”

“Yes, you did. However, I do believe the new Minister for Magic would be willing to help you recover them, should you wish it.”

“I would like to.”

“Then I will make the request.” Pierre paused before he glanced down at his daughter’s arm and his brow furrowed. “Healer Bramble mentioned your scars. Would you care to share with me how that happened?”

“I would, but if you don’t mind? I’d like to have that conversation tomorrow? I’m rather exhausted.”

“Of course, forgive me.”

She grabbed her Father’s hand and shook her head slowly. “Papa, there is _nothing_ to forgive. It is I, who should be asking you for forgiveness. I should’ve told you my plans, but I was afraid you’d forbid me to go with Harry and he _needed_ me.”

“Minister Shacklebolt did mention to me a bit of what transpired over this past year, and whilst I commend your bravery and loyalty, you must understand that as your Father it is difficult for me to admit that my daughter is now a fully grown woman with a mind of her own. I just wish you had trusted in me more.”

A few tears escaped from her eyes and she wiped at them furiously, feeling her heart cracking at the bereft expression on her Father’s face. 

“I’m truly sorry, Papa. I only wished to protect you.”

“Hermione, it is _my job to protect you_. Perhaps now that you’re home, you might _allow_ me to do so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He paused and then said evenly, “How do you predict your friends will deal with the truth?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, if they truly are your friends, they will understand. And if not?”

“I know.”

Pierre stood up and placed a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head, before tucking her under her duvet. “Get some rest. It seems the world will still be here in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Papa. I have missed you.”

“And I you, my angel.”

She watched her Father leave her room and sighed. She had no idea what the future would bring, but at the moment she really didn’t care.

She was just happy to be home. 


	2. Blood Contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Hermione and Draco learn about the blood contract and neither are pleased!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who took the time to leave a comment and/or a kudo on the last chapter.

Hermione was right that it hadn’t taken much time at all for the news of whom she truly was to become widely known. She had hoped for more time, but alas—when she got the letters from Harry, Ginny and a Howler from Ron less than a week later, she sighed in defeat. 

Harry’s letter had been filled with questions, and while he didn’t seem too upset nor hurt—he was curious as to the particulars. 

_Ginny was floored!_

Ginny wanted to know if what the Daily Prophet was reporting on was true—that she truly was the Lady Alphonse—the only child of the Grand Duke Pierre Alphonse. Hermione had written her back and explained that she was indeed the very one, and that she would explain as soon as her Father gave his permission. She went on to share that she was in France, and would not be returning to London anytime soon. 

Ronald, however—had _lost the plot_ and had sent her a scathing Howler—demanding answers and screaming his hurt at being lied to. Towards the end, someone must’ve smacked him upside the head, because his shout of ‘ _Hey!’_ was the last word before the Howler exploded in a cloud of dust...

...when she’d incinerated it with distinction. 

_How in the world did she ever think she and Ron were well-suited?_

It must’ve been the forced cohabitation for months on end, as well as the lack of sleep and food. 

Not to mention wearing a _bloody horcrux_ around her neck. 

Her Father had just watched the missive explode as he took a small sip of his espresso, clearly unhappy.

“This Ronald Weasley? Please tell me that you’ve finally decided that young wizard is not worth your time?”

“If I’d hadn’t, that letter would’ve cinched it, Papa.”

“Good. Because I can’t in all good conscious allow my daughter to marry such a ruffian! How _uncouth_.”

The Daily Prophet’s article that had come out the following day however, had left her feeling even more on edge. There was invasive speculation as to why she’d kept her heritage a secret. There was also mention of her Mother’s death, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it. This included information on how the Royalists were continuing to make headway into both the Magical and Muggle world, in an effort to see the Noblesse reinstated to its rightful place. Her Father, being the Grand Duke and the rightful heir to the French crown (and her subsequent heritage as being his only heir), was cause for much gossip, it would seem. 

There was so much to unpack, that it made her head swim. 

“I don’t think I want to go back.” She said at last. “If it was bad before, just being Hermione Granger? I simply can’t imagine what it will be like now. I’d rather stay here in France.”

Pierre chuckled, but didn’t reply immediately, as he too—perused through the Prophet and clucked in disgust at some of the more outlandish commentary by this Rita Skeeter. 

“Didn’t you trap her in a mason jar the end of your fourth year for several weeks?”

“I did.”

“Perhaps you might seek to do so again? The witch is clearly unhinged.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not especially.”

She took a sip of her tea, but her lifted eyebrow betrayed her outer calmness. She actually believed her Father, that he wouldn’t care one way or the other, and she was tempted. 

_Sorely tempted..._

“I’ll think about it.” Was all she replied with, and her Father smirked, but left it alone. 

“What do you have planned for today?” He asked after a while. 

“I’d thought I’d go riding this morning. I’ve missed Zephyr, and thought it would be good to spend some quality time with him today.”

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion.” Pierre nodded, then turned to his manservant Jean Paul as the older gentleman sauntered into the room. 

“Your Grace, I have some correspondence for you to look at.”

“Very well.” 

Pierre gestured accordingly, and Jean Paul set the missives down next to his employer before nodding to Hermione and leaving them to finish their breakfast in peace. 

Picking up the first letter, Pierre huffed as he set it aside. The second and third were summarily dismissed as well, but the final one he opened immediately—scowling at the parchment as if it he’d found it personally offensive, before sighing in disgust. 

“I must see to this immediately.”

“Is everything alright, Papa?”

“I’m unsure, my Angel. Enjoy your day and I will see you at dinner.”

“Of course.”

She watched her Father leave, clearly not interested in finishing his breakfast. Once she was done, she set her napkin down next to her plate and went to dress in her riding gear for the morning. 

Making her way to the stables, she said hello to the groundskeeper and the stable hands who attended to the horses. Her Friesian Zephyr, was solid black and quite a spirited one—he had been given to her when she was nine and they had bonded quickly—but Zephyr was of a particular temperament, and he only allowed Hermione to ride him. 

When she entered the stables, she heard the neighing sounds of Zephyr as he stuck his head out of his stall. 

“Hello, boy.” She walked over with a red apple and gave it to him, smiling when he took it eagerly and chomped it down before he nuzzled his large nose into her hair. “I’ve missed you too. How about a ride today?”

Zephyr huffed and nodded his head, completely understanding of her intent. She led him out of his stall and over to the paddock where her English side saddle was set out for her. Once everything was in place, she mounted Zephyr and headed for their favorite ride along the countryside. 

The Alphonse grounds were located just outside of Paris, between Versailles and Marly-le-Roi. The grounds boasted about seventy acres of pristine forests and gardens, a river and a small lake. The main home was called _Ville Fleur Étoile_ , and had fourteen bedrooms and was approximately 14,000 square feet. There were three carriage houses on the property as well as ten greenhouses and a small winery. 

As she rode through the cedars and grasses, across the bridge and down to the lake, she felt her worries wash away. This was her home. This was where she belonged and as much as she loved her friends, she had no desire to return to Britain anytime soon. 

Moving down the path, she finally came to her favored spot and pulled up on the reins, halting Zephyr’s gait to a slow trot. Him chuffing at his bit, let Hermione know he had missed this as much as she had. 

Dismounting, she grabbed her beaded bag and pulled out a bottle of water and a few apples. Giving one to Zephyr, she led him towards her favorite tree and then set him to graze while she pulled out a blanket and book and settled down for a quiet afternoon of reading. 

By the time she’d started to feel the first pangs of hunger, the sun was dipping low into the sky. Smiling gently, she picked up her items, put them away and headed for home. 

As the stables came into view, her eyes widened when she saw her Father standing there waiting for her...but it wasn’t him that made her face drop—it was the wizard standing next to him. 

_What in the fuck was Lucius Malfoy doing here?_

Pulling up Zephyr to a complete halt, she dismounted easily and handed the reins over to Bertrand, the stable master—before walking with purpose towards her Father.

“Father?” Her voice was curt. “Might I ask _why he is here?”_

Pierre didn’t need to know how upset his child was. She had finally shared with him what had occurred during the war, including her subsequent capture and torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. If the woman hadn’t been killed, he would’ve seen to it himself. Unfortunately, there was a far more pressing problem to deal with. 

“Hermione, I will need you to make yourself presentable and meet with us inside.”

“Why?” She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. “And _why_ isn’t he in Azkaban?”

Pierre’s gaze narrowed, but he knew his daughter well enough that she would need some kind of explanation before she’d comply. 

Unfortunately, this was not a conversation he wanted to have out in the open.

“I’m sure we can explain all of this inside.” Pierre lifted his hand to still his daughter’s rebuttal. “Thirty minutes, Angel, and not a second longer.”

“Of course, Papa.” She bowed her head, glared at the blonde man next to her Father, and stormed back into the chateau with her head held high. 

Pierre watched his daughter go, and then turned his weighted gaze onto the wizard next to him. 

“You do realize that my daughter will likely curse you and your son, once the truth comes out?”

Lucius bowed his head subtly, the Malfoy smirk quirking—threatening to break free. “I can just imagine her feelings on the subject.”

“And your son?”

“Has _no_ idea.” Lucius stated haughtily. “I had forgotten the existence of the contract until my Father’s portrait reminded me the day the Prophet article came out. That our Great-Great Grandfather’s, decided this nearly one hundred and seventy years ago? I can’t imagine my son...”

“He was rather unkind to my daughter,” Pierre interrupted as he growled out lowly, “and whilst this is a blood contract, nothing short of that, would have ever forced me into allowing this farce to occur.”

Lucius bristled in anger, feeling censured for his part in the war and what had happened to Hermione Alphonse in his home. However, that notwithstanding, it didn’t make the circumstances of the blood pact any more palatable.

“You chose to hide your child as a Muggleborn, Pierre! _I simply can’t abide such a thing myself!”_

“Too bad, Lucius.” Pierre bit back. “My Angelique was murdered and I feared for Hermione. Do you think it was an easy choice to make? Especially knowing that your Master would be returning? Don’t you believe I would’ve preferred her to attend Beauxbatons? Which would’ve been her rightful place! But she was an unknowing target here, and my choices were limited. I chose to hide her in plain sight, hoping against hope that she would be overlooked. But then she was sorted into Gryffindor despite my belief she’d go elsewhere, and then to compound the issue? She had to make friends with that Potter lad, and her loyalty refused to allow her to leave his side, despite my feelings on the matter!”

“And yet, she survived— _persevered_ , and is now the Heroine of the Wizarding World. Quite a coup Pierre, wouldn’t you agree? It will definitely make your claim to the French Throne more welcoming amongst the magical elite.”

Pierre glowered in ire at the younger wizard. “My claim was _never_ in doubt, Lucius. I am the rightful heir and my daughter will have her heritage restored to her as is her birthright. She will be the Grand Duchess Alphonse and trust me when I tell you that anyone who tries to harm her will deal with my wrath. I may not be able to take my retribution out on you and your family due to the blood pact, but I’m not without my own powers, Lucius. Why do you think your Dark Lord stayed out of France? You would do well to remember just whom you’re addressing!”

Lucius swallowed and paled slightly, but tilted his head in acquiescence. “I did not mean to offer offense.”

“Your _mere presence here offends me,_ but my hands are tied in this one instance. For myself? I’ll admit that I’m rather looking forward to seeing my daughter making your son, squirm. It should provide good theatre, if nothing else.”

He then smirked evilly as he gestured his hand outwards for the Malfoy Lord to precede him into his home. 

He just hoped his daughter wouldn’t be too angry, when he told her the unwelcome news...

_**Thirty minutes later...** _

Hermione sat across from her Father and fumed silently. 

How in Merlin and Morgana had this been allowed to happen? 

She stared down at her Vinewood wand, that had been returned to her by Lucius bloody Malfoy, and she desperately wanted to hex the man. By the smug look on his face, she was fairly certain he knew it too! 

“This is not to be _borne!”_ She hissed out at last. “ _I will not marry that ferret!”_ Her amber eyes then locked onto the elder Malfoy. “I will _not_ be related to him!”

“Hermione...”

“Do you think my own son will be happy with this development?” Lucius drawled out arrogantly. “He was seeing a witch before this mess with the Dark Lord occurred. By all accounts, I do believe he was planning on courting her given the proper opportunity.”

“Smashing for him!” She bit out waspishly, ignoring her Father’s grin. “Perhaps you might send my condolences to the poor witch. Would this be Pansy Parkinson, by any chance? They were _perfectly_ suited for each other, after all.”

Lucius sighed heavily. “No, if you must know—it was Astoria Greengrass.”

She folded her arms and shrugged. She knew of Daphne Greengrass, but had no knowledge of the younger sister. 

“Did she attend Hogwarts?”

“Yes. She’s two years Draco’s junior.”

“Isn’t there anyway to break this betrothal, Father?” She turned towards her parent in desperation. “Some clause that states being tortured in their home _negates_ the contract?”

“On the contrary, Miss Alphonse,” Lucius smirked, “the wards of the Manor likely recognized your blood the moment it was spilt. If there had been a loophole to be exploited, the moment you were tortured in my ancestral home, any possibilities to negate this travesty would’ve been foregone.”

“Lovely,” She gritted out scathingly, “and how touching! _And vile!”_ She stood up and headed towards the window, that gave a spectacular view of the rose gardens below. “I loathe your son, and I have no doubt he feels very much the same about me. We will likely kill each other!”

“Nonsense, Angel. The blood contract forbids it.” Her Father demurred blithely. 

“It didn’t forbid me being tortured in their home though, now did it?”

“They didn’t do the torturing. Or at least your torture wasn’t by the hand of an actual Malfoy.”

She turned around with a curious lifted eyebrow. “And if they’d had?”

Pierre grinned. “ _Death_.”

“ _Mores the pity,”_ She replied saucily, “That would’ve been my get out of jail free card?”

“Something like that.” Her Father nodded. 

“I take it Malfoy doesn’t know about the happy news yet?” Hermione’s voice was laced with sarcasm. 

“No, he does not.”

“Well, good luck with that. Don’t you have a trial coming up soon? Maybe you’ll both end up in Azkaban, and I’ll be free?”

“One could only hope that would be the case, my Angel,” Pierre replied before Lucius could speak, “however, due to the contract it would seem that it makes the situation a bit more precarious. Blood contracts, especially ones such as these are similar to Life Debts.”

She paled in horror, understanding clouding her expression. 

“You’ve got to be joking?”

“Sadly, not.” Pierre lamented with a wave of his hand. “It might be advisable for you both to formally meet before the press gets ahold of the particulars, but something tells me that’s not going to happen.”

“I need to speak with Harry, Papa.”

“Why?”

“Because I would like him to hear the unfortunate news from me?” Her words were laced with disdain. “I’m sure he’ll want to congratulate me properly.”

“More like he will offer to make the Malfoy boy _disappear_ , and no one would question the Boy Who Lived?”

Her wicked smirk and Lucius sneer were about what Pierre had expected. 

“I will allow Mr. Potter to come here and you may speak with him tomorrow.” Hermione’s father then addressed Lucius directly. “I will speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt as well. Once the particulars have been met, we will have you over for dinner soon.”

“We will be looking forward to it.” Lucius drawled arrogantly as he followed Pierre and stood. “I will explain the circumstances to my son.”

Her scoff was soft, but Pierre heard it as did Lucius. The Malfoy Lord chose to ignore it however, as he bowed formally and was then escorted from the room by Jean Paul. Once he was gone, Pierre turned to his daughter, who’s eyes were filling with reluctant tears. 

“How am I supposed to be alright with this, Papa?”

Moving over and enveloping her into his embrace, Pierre held his daughter’s shaking form. 

“You’re not supposed to be, and I would give all that I have to spare you this fate, Angel— but I cannot. To do so would strip us both of our magic, and as much as I detest the thought of you marrying that boy—I will not have you sacrifice your magic!”

“Nor I you.” She mumbled as she buried her head into her Father’s chest and sighed in resignation. “Thank you for allowing Harry to come here.”

“You’re welcome.” Pierre pulled back slightly and wiped the tears from his daughter’s cheeks. “I don’t suppose Lucius will have an easier time of this?”

“No,” She shook her head emphatically, “I’d meant it when I said that Malfoy hates me. He’s never made any secret of how he’s felt about me. Yes, much of that was due to my blood status as he perceived it, but it wasn’t just that.”

“And you?”

“Loathe him just as much.”

Pierre didn’t reply, and he didn’t need to. He was fairly certain that this situation would end up testing the good will of all involved. 

Assuming there was any to be had in the first place.

When Lucius returned home, his family was waiting for him. His wife and son had been surprised when he’d told them of his visit to the Alphonse home, as they were all on house arrest until their trial date in less than a week’s time. But Shacklebolt had approved the visit, under the circumstances. It was to be a one time concession, at least until they could figure out what would happen with the contract and how it would affect their supposed trial. 

When he entered his study, both Narcissa and Draco were sitting together, reading quietly. As he sat down behind his desk, he removed his cloak, gloves and set his cane down. He then sat back and closed his eyes in silent preparation of the drama that was about to unfold. His Father’s portrait coughed loudly to get his attention, and Lucius almost wanted to set the blasted thing on fire! 

He’d rather not known about this at all.

“Lucius?” Narcissa’s voice was clearly worried. “Are you alright?”

“No, my love. I am _not_.” He sat forward and placed his arms on his desk, eyeing this wife and son warily. “As you both know, I went to Ville Fleur Etoille today to speak with the Grand Duke.”

“Is it _true?”_ Draco asked lowly. 

“About Miss Granger?”

Draco nodded and he returned the gesture, watching his son’s face pale. 

“She **is** the Lady Alphonse. The rightful heir, to the French Throne. If I hadn’t seen her myself at her Father’s side, I wouldn’t have believed it despite the reporting.”

“Why did they keep her identity hidden?” Narcissa inquired in confusion. 

“Pierre mentioned Angelique’s death, and there was reason to believe that she’d been murdered. The Royalists have been making inroads for a while, trying to reinstate the French Monarchy and he believed her death may have been linked to factions that opposed that possibility. I got the distinct impression Dumbledore might’ve convinced Pierre that he could protect Miss Alphonse by hiding her in plain sight. Perhaps, had she not befriended Potter, that might’ve been true. If she had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and I believe strongly that Pierre surmised that to be the likely scenario—she never would’ve raised to the level of notoriety as Potter’s mudblood best friend.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you went there, Father?”

“No, Draco, it doesn’t.” He grimaced and sat back in defeat. 

“Just _tell_ the boy, Lucius!” Abraxas portrait hissed. “You coddle him too much!”

Groaning deeply, he stared in defeat over his shoulder at his Father, while Draco demanded angrily, “What is he talking about, Father?”

“You are promised to the Alphonse witch, Grandson.” Abraxas replied haughtily, before Lucius could silence him. “Blood contract meted out by my Great-Grandfather Macrinus and Louis Alphonse nearly two hundred years ago.”

Draco’s face paled even further as he gaped at his grandfather, while Narcissa hissed in shock. 

“Is this some _sick_ joke?” Draco blurted out venomously, now staring irately at his Father—waiting for him to say that this was all some sort of sick prank!

“I’m afraid it’s not, Draco.” Lucius replied evenly. 

“But I was seeing Tori!” Draco lamented with a growl. “I was _hoping_ to...”

“I know, Draco, and I even conveyed that part to Miss Alphonse.”

“What was her reaction?” Narcissa inquired softly. 

“She offered her condolences to the witch in question.”

Draco sneered as he stood up in self-righteous anger and began to pace around the room, murmuring unkind things under his breath like _vicious swot_ and _insufferable know it all._..strangely, Lucius thought, he refrained from using the M word. 

“I can’t marry that witch, Father! I _loathe_ her!”

“Trust me, Draco,” He replied, “she feels exactly the same about you. I believe her words were along the lines of—quote, ‘ _I will not marry that ferret_ ’ endquote.”

Draco snarled again, as he stormed out of the study and slammed the door with distinction, leaving his parents staring morosely after him. 

“Lucius, isn’t there something we can do?”

“No there isn’t, my love.” He sighed heavily. “And even if there was, the fact that this contract exists? It is likely enough reason to secure Draco and myself from serving time in Azkaban.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Narcissa tutted thoughtfully, before she stood herself and made her way over to her husband, allowing him to seat her on his lap. “I just feel bad for our Son. He’s had so many of his choices taken from him.”

“Do you think his heart was truly settled on Miss Greengrass?”

“I don’t know. I do know that they became friendly Draco’s fifth year but after what had happened sixth year, he placed some distance between them and then Randolph left for France with the girls after Dumbledore was killed. I think he was concerned his girls would be targeted by some of the more depraved of the Dark Lord’s followers.”

“Are they still in France?”

“To my knowledge,” Narcissa nodded, “but Draco has written to Astoria on occasion. I do believe he was waiting to see what the outcome of the trials were, before making his sentiments known.”

“There’s nothing for it, Cissy. I’ve read through the contract, and I can’t find a loophole.”

“That’s because there isn’t one.” Abraxas interrupted with a snort. “Since the contract was open ended, due to the fact that there hadn’t been a female born into either line in several centuries...it didn’t specify fidelity as a requirement for either party, so if Draco wishes to take a Mistress after the sufficient heirs are sired—he may do so.”

“And Miss Alphonse?” He inquired. 

“She would have that right as well.”

“Is there a consummation clause, Lucius?”

“There is.”

“Purity clause?”

“That too.”

“If Draco were to break the clause?”

“He’d lose his magic.”

Narcissa shook her head in resignation, clearly not happy about this unfortunate turn of events. 

“How long do they have until they have to marry?”

“Once the contract is filed with the Ministry, they have a year to wed.”

“And to produce an heir?”

“Surprisingly, that was left open ended. There was not an exact time frame specified, other than an heir for both lines would be required.”

“But, Luc! The Malfoy line hasn’t sired more than a single heir in eleven generations!”

“I know that, darling. The Alphonse line has however, so it may be possible. Pierre mentioned having us over for dinner sometime in the near future and I’m certain under the circumstances, that Shacklebolt will allow it.”

“How is Pierre taking this news?”

“He’s _not_ pleased,” He sighed again, “he sees our family’s current status as a blight as well as what occurred here in our home to his daughter as unforgivable. I got the impression he would’ve sought out swift retribution, had it not been for the contract being in place.”

“The Alphonse line, as much as they pretend to be tolerant, have much hidden Dark magic within its history,” Abraxas drawled uneasily, “and that was the main reason my Great Grandfather sought out the contract. He felt if an alliance was forged, it would seek to rejoin the Malfoy line back to its roots, so to speak.”

“I can’t imagine he could’ve for-seen this situation, Father.”

“Certainly not, but there is nothing for it! They will be married, despite Draco’s feelings on the matter.” 

His Father spat out the word ‘ _feelings_ ’ with such distaste, it made him flinch. 

He’d always been a right piece of work. 

“Perhaps, it would be best if I spoke with our son?” Narcissa offered sincerely, “If for no other reason than I’m sure I can make him see reason.”

“Good luck with that.” Abraxas snarled, and Lucius sighed as he nodded once to his wife, accepting her affections before she removed herself from his study, to seek out their son. 

“This marriage will be fortuitous for our line, Lucius.”

“Under any other circumstances, I would wholeheartedly agree, Father. However, there is a lot of history between Miss Alphonse and Draco, and none of it is positive.”

“I still can’t abide the fact that Pierre allowed his daughter to enter Hogwarts as a supposed mudblood! What was he thinking!!?”

“He felt it would protect her, but I have to wonder if that was all there was to it?”

“Hmmm,” Abraxas murmured thoughtfully, “knowing the Alphonse family as I do, I have to wonder if you’re right about that, Son.”


	3. Parameters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione both find themselves rather despondent over their impending betrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter today...just because! The response has been lovely! Thank you one and all!

Narcissa found her son sitting on his balcony, staring unseeingly out into the evening as the sun set on the horizon. She stood there for a brief moment, taking him in, and it wasn’t difficult to see the stress in his shoulders, nor the way his mouth was settled into a deep frown. 

“Draco?”

“Come in, Mother.”

She walked out into the fresh air and felt the tingling of a warming charm as she sat down next to her son. 

“I feel as if I should apologize.”

Draco turned his head and his lips quirked slightly, before the same irritated scowl fell back firmly into place. 

“I’m not upset at _you_ , Mum. And as much as I’m loathe to admit it, I do understand that Father’s hands are tied. I just never in my wildest imagination, ever thought I’d have to _marry_ Granger.”

“You _have_ spoken about the witch quite often, my Dragon.”

“Not because I held any affection for her, Mother!” He sneered in anger, “But because she’s an _insufferable chit,_ who’s bested me at every turn.”

“And you believed her heritage to be unseemly?”

He sighed, and nodded—as there was no point in denying it. He’d called her that word enough to know what it meant, and how he’d felt.

“Fair point.” He drawled shortly, and noticed his Mother smiling softly at him. 

“Was your heart truly set on Astoria?”

He lifted back his head in thought, as he stared out into the heavens that were just starting to show signs of life. 

“She was the only one who took the time to try and _understand_ me,” he said at last. “She’s been a confidante at times, and a friend. I was learning to trust her...”

“And I know that is a hard thing for you.”

He nodded reluctantly. 

“She’s unfailingly kind and sweet. And I’d thought, _perhaps_...”

“So not love yet?”

“No, but I like her,” He turned tormented grey eyes to his Mother, “I rather liked her quite a bit.”

“And you don’t like Miss Alphonse?”

“Mum, she punched me third year! _She’s the bane of my existence!”_

“Did you deserve it?”

“ _ **What?!?”**_

“Did you _deserve_ it?” Narcissa tutted with a knowing smile. 

“What!! No! _Of course not!”_

Watching her son, Narcissa had to admit that she’d never seen him react so passionately about anyone. Not even the Potter boy, and her Dragon had despised the boy...but she had known that those feelings had stemmed from deep hurt and jealousy over the boy’s refusal to accept Draco’s offer of friendship their shared first year. 

“I think it might be wise of you to try in this _one_ instance, to see if you can find common ground with Miss Alphonse. You both are smart and capable. Tell me? If you _had_ known of her heritage from the first, would you have looked upon her differently?”

Draco bit his lip as he considered the question carefully. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d noticed Granger because of her unparalleled intellect. She was clever, smart and loyal those she cared about. She’d never backed down, not even to his crazy aunt— _but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her!_

“It’s a moot point, Mum. We can’t undo years of animosity.”

“Perhaps not all at once, that’s very true. But time is a great healer, or so I’ve been told.” She patted his hand in support. “If nothing else, your Father mentioned that the contract states that once heirs for both families are sired, you can take a Mistress of your choosing.”

He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. “And can she?”

“Yes she can, so I would be _mindful_ of making that choice, my Dragon. Something tells me that Miss Alphonse will not look too kindly on you should you choose to make a fool of her. And if you’re not willing to share her, then perhaps you might make certain not to put yourself, nor her—in a position where that would happen. She is to be the Grand Duchess Alphonse and if _rumor_ is to be believed? The reinstated Queen of France someday. She is as much a War Hero as Mr. Potter is, and will have her choice of consorts should you decide to play that card. If your heart is truly set on Astoria, and she is willing to take on the position as your Mistress— _which I sincerely doubt Randolph would approve_ —but if she was _willing_ —then you should let your sentiments be known to Miss Alphonse before the marriage, so neither one of you have unrealistic expectations going into this union.”

“Do you think Granger would really take a lover?” He scoffed. “I can’t see little Miss Perfect doing such a thing.”

Narcissa’s tinkling laughter filled the room. “You’re naïveté is _adorable_ , my Dragon.”

“What do you _mean_ , Mother?”

“Just that Gryffindor’s tend to be very passionate individuals. From some of the rumors I’ve heard about Miss Alphonse, she does have some very Slytherin characteristics, but as a whole—the witch is truly a Gryffindor at heart.”

“Granger? Slytherin?” He sneered. “ _Doubtful_ , Mother?”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps I will keep my information to myself?”

“ _Mother?!”_

Narcissa’s laughter carried again, but she just patted her son’s arm playfully. 

“Do you truly wish to know?”

“Of course!”

“Hmmm...very well. As you are aware, I went to school with a certain reporter from the Daily Prophet. During your fifth year, you do remember that she didn’t write for the Prophet that year, correct?”

“I remember, and I also remember she wrote that horrid article for the Quibbler.”

“Did you ever wonder why that was?”

“Not particularly.”

“Your lack of curiosity is surprising, but it’s no matter. I heard a little rumor that Miss Alphonse blackmailed Miss Skeeter and forced her to take a sabbatical for that year, and then used her advantage to coerce the witch to write that article for the Quibbler.”

He sat there stunned. Granger _blackmailed_ Skeeter? Shaking his head, he just couldn’t believe Miss Goody-Goody would do such a thing.

“No?” His mother smirked. “Then perhaps you might be surprised to learn that Miss Alphonse in your shared second year, stole ingredients from Severus potions storage.”

This had him sitting up in attention. “To what end? What did she take?”

“Lacewing flies, boomslang skin...”

“Polyjuice.” He breathed out in awe. “She _brewed_ Polyjuice second year?”

“According to Severus.”

“And he didn’t punish her?” He scoffed. “How did he even find out?”

“That he didn’t tell me, but suffice it to say, it was true. He had tangible proof of the perfidy, but chose not to offer reprisal for some unknown reason.”

“Salazar!” He breathed out in wonder, as he gave his mother a considering look. “What else have you heard?”

“She silenced Antonin in the Department of Mysteries, and then bested him in a duel about a year later.”

“I’m sorry?” He was now gaping like a loon. “She _bested_ Dolohov?”

“And obliviated him and Thorfinn afterwards. When the Dark Lord realized what had happened, he was incensed and punished both wizards accordingly.”

“Bloody hell!” He whispered, ignoring his Mother’s scowl at his use of profanity. “How did I not know any of this?”

“Because you’ve made assumptions in your dislike of Miss Alphonse,” Narcissa tutted in amusement, “that made you blind to all else.”

“I’ve _never_ been blind to Granger.”

“You still refer to her by that name, however.”

“It’s her name, isn’t it?”

“Her Mother was a Dagworth-Granger so technically, I suppose it is.”

Draco was silent for a few moments before he asked lowly, “What do I tell Tori?”

“Be honest with her, my Dragon. If she cares for you, she will understand.”

“She does. I just never envisioned hurting her in this way.”

“Did you make any promises to her?”

“No, but we did talk about the future from time to time. Mostly before sixth year, but we both wanted the same things.”

“Compatibility is important, that is true. Loyalty, affection, trust even more so. Love is a rare find in this world. Even though your Father and I were arranged, I grew to love him deeply. I know it might seem like an impossibility now, but given time and distance? You might actually come to care for Miss Alphonse and she for you.”

“She _hates_ me, Mother.”

“And do you hate her?”

He paused for a moment as he seriously wondered exactly what it was he felt for Granger. He loathed her snottiness and know it all nature...her self-righteousness and do-gooder mentality—her elf rights club in fifth year was a prime example of that—but she was intelligent and not exactly hard on the eyes. 

_No, he didn’t hate her..._

But he didn’t like her either. 

“I don’t know what I feel for the witch. I’m not sure it’s as strong as hate, but I definitely don’t like her either.”

“Then all I can ask is for you to try and keep an open mind. See where that takes you both?”

“I suppose I can try.” He finally bit out reluctantly. 

She smiled fondly at her son and kissed the top of his head, as she stood to leave his room. 

“Dinner will be served in an hour.”

Draco nodded as he watched his mother walk away—leaving him to his thoughts, which were all over the place. 

_**Back in France**_ , Hermione was having a similar conversation with her Father, over the same topics. 

“So what you’re saying is that once I beget an heir for each family, my duty is done and I can take a lover?”

“If you wish it.”

“And Malfoy can too?”

“Yes, he can.” Pierre sighed, not exactly thrilled with that part of the contract. “A separate contract can be made to ensure fidelity, if you both so wish it.”

Hermione bit her lip in contemplation as she considered that caveat. Did she want that option? More importantly, did she want Malfoy to have that option too?

“That’s a difficult decision,” She admitted at last, “do we need to decide before we marry?”

“Yes. The purity clause forbids either of you from engaging in intercourse with another party prior to marriage.”

“And what about kissing and petting?”

“The exact wording is: _neither party shall engage in pre-marital intercourse prior to the bonding of marriage vows.”_ Pierre sighed. “Back in the days when the contract was written, I don’t think wizard’s were particularly concerned with certain sexual parameters such as foreplay, only penetration. However, am I absolutely certain? _No_.”

“I assume this was to make certain neither party gave birth to a bastard?”

“Quite certain.”

“Lovely.” Her voice was hard. “So a slightly ambiguous purity clause and a consummation clause.” She stared off into space for a moment before her face morphed into a wicked grin. “Did the consummation clause specifically mandate intercourse after marriage?”

Pierre steepled his hands as he sat back and shook his head in the negative. “The wording of _consummation leading to procreation_ wasn’t specified beyond the terminology. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Well, back then consummation to procreate meant having sex, but today? You don’t need to have sex to procreate.”

“ _Aha!”_ He chuckled deeply at his daughter’s elegant work around. “Muggle in vitro would likely work. And the possibility of getting pregnant with twins would be quite high. Mind you, you wouldn’t be able to control the gender of the child or children—but it would serve its purpose.” He paused and then said in warning, “I’m unsure how the Malfoy family would take to such an option.”

“He might be relieved,” She said quietly, “in fact, given the choice Malfoy might insist upon it.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know how to answer that, Papa. You know my history with Malfoy has never been positive. He’s hated me for years and wished me dead. And there is another witch he desires, so I can’t imagine he would want to consummate relations anyway. It might be easier and less emotionally taxing, to remain as aloof as necessary. Especially if he desires to take a Mistress.”

“I can see the wisdom in that line of thinking, but perhaps a frank discussion might be prudent? The boy may surprise you.”

“I sincerely _doubt_ that.”

“Nonetheless, think about it. I will need to speak with Shacklebolt come the morrow. Owl your friend and have him come and visit. If he has any questions, I would be happy to address them.”

“Thank you, Papa. I will do that.”

“Good. Now get some rest and I will see you in the morning.”

She nodded and she watched as her Father left her room and couldn’t help the sigh of frustration that fell, after he was gone. 

How in the world was she ever supposed to find common ground with Draco _sodding_ Malfoy?


	4. A Surprising Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione shares with Harry about her betrothal situation with Draco, and Harry makes a surprising offer.

Harry and been patiently waiting for Hermione to get in touch with him. Since the conversation he’d had with Kingsley in regards to the Malfoy trial (or lack thereof), due to the betrothal blood contract between Hermione’s family and the Malfoy’s—the _Daily Prophet_ had been on a free-for-all and all he could think about was Hermione, and how she was doing. 

Well, Rita Skeeter had been hounding him too, but that was neither here nor there...

Ron had been a _right git_ the past week since Hermione’s heritage reveal, but it had been nothing compared to how he was behaving currently. It had gotten so bad yesterday, that Ginny had thrown a _Bat-bogey_ his way while George had sent a itching hex at exactly the same time. 

Needless to say, Ron was off pouting somewhere—making the situation all about himself like always, and failing to see how this might be affecting Hermione. 

And not for the first time he had to wonder what Hermione had ever seen in Ron Weasley. 

Ginny had been worried for Hermione, and had made him promise to take Hermione a letter which he’d agreed to. Their relationship was now officially over and Harry was rather nervous about seeing his best friend. He had so much he wanted to tell her. 

So now here he was, standing in the receiving room of the grandest home he’d ever been in, and feeling completely out of place in his jeans and plaid flannel shirt. 

“Harry!” Hermione rushed in and enveloped him into a firm hug, which he returned without hesitation. 

“Hey, Hermione.”

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to meet with you before now.” His best friend smiled genuinely as she took his hand and led him further into her home. “But my Father didn’t give permission until yesterday.”

“No, I understand.” Harry admitted earnestly. “Kingsley told me a bit about your situation and I must admit, I was taken aback. I can’t imagine what you’ve been dealing with.”

“Well, at least I’m not in London to deal with it, although I feel like a horrible friend for leaving you to the wolves.”

“Eh, it’s been fine. I’m hanging out at the Burrow mostly.”

“How is everyone?”

Harry could sense Hermione’s unease, so he handed her the letter from Ginny. 

“Everyone is coping...well, except Ron of course. He’s been a right foul git.”

“I can just imagine.”

Hermione led Harry out to the gazebo in the gardens where tea was waiting. 

“Thank you, Marcelle.”

“It’s nothing, Miss Hermione. Will you require anything else?”

“No, we are fine.”

Harry watched the short, stocky wizard disappear into the chateau with a grin. “It’s strange, seeing you like this.”

“I know, but now you understand why I never had you visit over the summers or holidays. It would’ve been difficult to explain.”

“I did meet whom I thought were your parents before second year though.”

“Ah, Wendell Granger is my Mother’s cousin. A squib. He offered to pose as my Father due to the circumstances surrounding my Mother’s death. They’ve always been like second parents to me. I’m still waiting for Kingsley to locate them in Australia, and then I’ll go there and reverse the memory charm.”

Harry gave her an appraising look. “I’d often wondered why you weren’t more upset about modifying their memories.”

“They knew it was a possibility by the end of our fifth year. I never lied to them about that and they were willing to allow it.”

“That’s amazing of them.”

“Well, unfortunately it turned out to be necessary.”

There was a weighted pause as Harry watched Hermione serve their tea, before he felt compelled to speak up. 

“So, Malfoy eh?”

Hermione groaned in pain. “Yes. Please don’t worry about saying how you feel. I pretty much feel the same, I’m sure.”

“I don’t doubt it. Perhaps you can give me some particulars? The Prophet has been speculating..”

“You mean _Rita_ has been speculating.”

“Yes.”

“I need to do something about that witch.”

Harry chuckled as he took a sip of his tea. “Count me in.”

“ _Really?”_

“Definitely.”

“You’re a good wizard, Harry Potter.”

“So details?”

“Oh...yes...”

So Hermione told Harry the particulars of the blood contract including the more cognizant points of the purity and consummation clauses as well as the ability to take a lover.

“Do you really think Malfoy is going to be alright with letting you take a lover? He’s a rather _selfish_ prat and has never liked sharing his things.”

“I’m _not a thing,_ Harry Potter. Besides, it’s not a love match and apparently, there was someone he was seriously considering courting before the war happened. I got the impression from Lucius Malfoy, that Draco wished to pursue her.”

“Who?” Harry choked out in shock, wondering what kind of witch would be interested in a prat like Malfoy.

“Astoria Greengrass.”

“Daphne’s sister? Didn’t they relocate here to France during the war?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Did they?”

“I think so.”

“Hmm, that’s interesting.”

“So? Are you going to take a lover?”

“Why Harry? Are you _volunteering?”_

Harry chuckled, but his blush gave him away in that moment, and Hermione’s eyes widened. “But I thought you and Ginny?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “We tried. Really. The past couple weeks have just been awkward. She wants to go try out for the Harpies, and I want to be an Auror. We just don’t have as much in common as I’d thought and...”

“And what?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure I want to get married.”

“Really?”

He nodded, before his green eyes locked with the amber of his best friend. “Yeah, really.”

“So then? You really were offering?”

Harry bit his lip and contemplated his answer, but he was fairly certain he knew the answer already. 

He’d always been half in love with Hermione. 

“Yeah, I _really_ think I am.”

Sitting back floored, Hermione stared at her best friend in wonder. She had to admit...it was tempting. 

_Very tempting..._

She’d always been a little bit in love with Harry. 

“That’s...”

“Surprising?”

“Yes...but definitely not unwelcome.”

Harry grinned sheepishly as he ran his hand through his messy dark locks. “Well, the offer’s there.”

“I’ll seriously consider it.”

“Do.”

Oddly enough, the rest of the afternoon went by quite smoothly as they talked of the goings on in London, and what Hermione’s plans were for after she took her NEWTS by correspondence. 

As Harry went to leave, he gave Hermione a gentle lingering kiss on her cheek, then whispered into her ear, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yes.” She smiled softly as she hugged him tightly, enjoying the feel of his lean body against hers. When they finally pulled away simultaneously, both were blushing but Harry just winked and the next thing Hermione knew—he was gone in a swirl of green flames. 

Fanning a different kind of heat off her face, she couldn’t help the stupid grin that morphed onto her countenance.

Who knew that Harry would be a viable option?

Could she ask that of him?

Would it irreparably damage their friendship, if it didn’t work out?

Was it even worth entertaining?

So many thoughts barraged her conscious while she walked towards her Father’s study, hoping to find him there. 

“Papa?”

“I’m here, Angel.” Pierre drawled, and he smiled as his daughter walked into the room—her face flushed and eyes alight in happiness. “I take it your visit with Mr. Potter went well?”

Her tell-tale blush gave her away, and Pierre’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

“Yes, quite well actually.” She sighed in something akin to pleasure as she sat down across from him. 

“ _Do tell.”_

“I told Harry everything. About the contract, Malfoy— _all of it.”_

“So what has you acting all flustered.”

Pierre watched his daughter’s expression morph into a bright smile. “He offered.”

“Offered what?” Pierre was fairly certain he knew what the offer was, but he wanted to hear the actual words from his daughter. 

“He offered to be my consort once the terms of the contract are fulfilled.”

Pierre set his quill down and leant forward, his posture radiating expectancy and interest. “Mr. Potter offered to enter into formal consort relations? I didn’t realize you both felt that way about each other?”

“Because of Ronald?”

“And the youngest Weasley daughter.”

“They decided it was best to end things.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly? I’ve always been very aware of Harry, but never thought he saw me in that way. During our time on the run, we shared a wand and were alone for a few months when Ron abandoned us, but I always thought it would be Ginny for him, so I never entertained the possibility. But now? I must admit, I’m seriously considering it.”

Pierre smirked in pride, and his mind whirred with the information about his daughter and Harry Potter sharing a wand... 

That was rather _unprecedented_.

“And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that the Malfoy boy rather loathes Mr. Potter? I mean, if you were to enter into an arrangement with someone? I can’t imagine there would be anyone that would infuriate Draco Malfoy more, can you?”

“Probably not, but that’s not the reason, Papa. I care very much for Harry and I wouldn’t do that to him if I wasn’t sure that he would be absolutely alright with this.”

“Well, this is a fortuitous chain of events. You’d be hard pressed to find a better match and Mr. Potter is loyal, brave and powerful.”

“Yes, Papa. He’s also kind, sweet and my best friend.”

“I know, Angel.” Pierre stood and made his way around his desk, before sitting down next to his daughter. “It’s worth exploring, if nothing else. I’ve invited the Malfoy family here for dinner on the weekend. I think it would be would be prudent to open negotiations with the young wizard. Let him know you have options. I think perhaps, I will mention it to Lucius in passing as well. I can’t imagine how that might sit with him if he knew his son’s position would be in any way threatened by Mr. Potter.”

“Papa! If I do this, it will be because I want to and I see no hope for a happy union with Malfoy. If he is adamant about wishing to pursue relations with Astoria Greengrass, I won’t fight him on it. I’ll make my own plans accordingly.”

“Will you tell him before or after?”

Hermione’s smirk was completely devious and not for the first time, Pierre realized just how much of her mother, Hermione had inside of her. 


	5. Let The Game Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Malfoy’s brings about interesting results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos...here’s another chapter and I hope you enjoy it!

The weekend came much too quickly for Hermione’s liking. She’d talked with Harry everyday, either by owl post or via floo. Last night they’d spent nearly two hours chatting and Hermione had fallen asleep in front of her hearth, her dreams filled with emerald green eyes.

She’d received an owl this morning from Harry asking her to lunch tomorrow. He wanted to hear all about her evening with the Malfoy’s tonight. He’d even agreed with her Father and reminded her that she should let Malfoy _know_ that she had options. 

She’d playfully chastised him for it last night when he’d first brought it up, but his shite-eating grin had filled her stomach with butterflies. When he’d told her to have ‘ _sweet dreams’._..she’d plopped down with a soft moan after the end of the floo call, feeling needy. 

It was both exhilarating and frustrating. 

_Who knew Harry Potter knew how to leave a witch panting?_

Taking her time to look her absolute best, she sighed as she gazed back at her self from her full length mirror. Her dress robes were a deep burgundy, with a tantalizing neckline and a flared skirt that fell to the knees. Her heels were golden-strapped three inch heels with tiny jewels embellished on the buckles. Her makeup was simple, except for her lipstick which matched her outfit. Her hair was done up in a French twist with gold hoops adorning her ears. 

Simple, _elegant_ —

Taking a final deep breath she waited until Jean Paul knocked on her door before joining her Father down in the drawing room. 

When she entered, their guests stood in greeting and she nodded politely before taking her place at her Father’s side. 

“There you are, Angel.” He held out his hand, which she took immediately. “I’m sure introductions aren’t unnecessary at this juncture, yes?”

“I would tend to think so.” Hermione replied as evenly as she could, while taking in the three Malfoy’s standing there. 

Lucius looked the same as he had before the war. His black dress robes, cravat and cane adorned his person and his hair was pulled back by a tie with his pompous sneer in permanent residence on his chiseled face. Narcissa looked regal in iced grey-blue dress robes that matched her eyes perfectly. Her hair, was pulled up into a pretty chignon, even if her jewels were a bit overdone. 

Malfoy was in his usual all black ensemble. His hair had grown out a bit, having more of a windswept look about it. His expression however, was completely devoid of emotion. 

How _utterly_ charming!

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long?”

Hermione addressed her Father, but included everyone in the question. 

“No, Miss Alphonse. We just arrived a few moments ago.” Narcissa spoke, her voice not exactly friendly—but not unkind either. 

“Since we have a few moments, perhaps you all might like a quick tour of the rose garden? The silver cedar trees and burnished roses are in perfect bloom right now.”

“Silver cedar trees?” Lucius asked, with interest. “I thought they were all extinct?”

“We have the last remaining specimens here on our property as well as a few variations of silver lime trees too.”

“Impressive.” Lucius nodded as he took his wife’s arm and followed Pierre out to the gardens, leaving the children behind. 

“Are we to follow?” Draco drawled. 

“It would only be polite.” Hermione replied without emotion. 

Draco’s silver-grey eyes considered her intently for a moment before he offered his arm as he’d been trained to do. She stared at it for a split second, before she carefully took the proffered appendage and allowed Malfoy to escort her outside. 

They didn’t speak however, as they followed her Father as he waxed poetic about the various plants and trees. Being a Herbology buff, he was quite proud of his greenhouses and gardens. As they made their way to the last greenhouse, Draco noticed some venomous tentacula plants. 

“Longbottom would love this place.”

Hermione glanced up at Malfoy with a hint of shock at the comment, not sure if he was being sincere or not—but all she did was hum in agreement. 

“I should bring Neville here at some point.”

“Has Potter been by?”

She desperately tried to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks, but apparently she didn’t quite succeed as Malfoy’s clipped voice bit out, “I _see_.”

“Yes, Harry’s been here.”

“And Weasley?”

“No.”

“Ah, so trouble in paradise?”

“Don’t go there, Malfoy. Ronald and I, aren’t together.”

“Obviously not now, but I’m sure it would’ve made things easier with Potter and the Weaselette being coupled.”

Hermione shrugged and replied, “Harry and Ginny aren’t together either.”

That brought Draco up short. He hadn’t read anything about Potter and the youngest Weasley daughter calling it quits. 

“I find that surprising.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“They seemed perfect for each other.”

“Hmm, well not everything is as it seems.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

She didn’t get a chance to comment though, because they’d reached the house and Jean Paul was there to let them know dinner was ready. 

The meal was lovely, the company not so much. Every now and then, Hermione could feel Malfoy’s weighted stare on her but she simply chose to ignore it. After dinner they could talk more then. 

“So, Miss Alphonse?” Lucius drawled. “Will you be returning to Hogwarts to finish your studies?”

“No, I’ll be doing them via correspondence. Minerva was kind enough to allow it.”

Draco was _floored_. 

_The swot wasn’t going back to school?_

“I’m surprised...” Draco paused awkwardly, as he’d almost called her Granger, “I’d thought you’d be excited to be Head Girl.”

“Not especially. My time at school is done, and I’ve been away from home long enough. I’ll be taking on an apprenticeship hopefully though, in Paris come September. I’m just waiting for my NEWT scores to be completed to be offered it formally.”

“With whom?” Narcissa asked, intrigued. 

“Nicolas Flamel.”

Three sets of forks dropped in shock and Draco stared at Granger with a mix of awe and jealousy. 

How had he not known she was interested in alchemy?

By his Mother’s smug look, he could only imagine what she must be thinking. 

“I wasn’t aware Master Flamel took on apprentices?” 

This question was from Lucius. 

“He doesn’t, as a general rule. But I’ve maintained a friendly correspondence with him since my first year at Hogwarts when Headmaster Dumbledore had the Sorcerer’s Stone hidden within the castle.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ Lucius drawled. 

“Oh, that’s right? You didn’t know about that, _did you?_ ” Hermione tutted almost playfully, enjoying the looks of utter shock and confusion on all the Malfoy’s faces, as well as the devious smirk of her Father. “At the end of my first year—Harry, Ron and myself, went after the Sorcerer’s Stone to keep Voldemort from obtaining it. Harry was successful, hence why Quirrell was killed. _Shame_.”

Three sets of eyes just stared at her, as she took a pleased bite of her roasted asparagus. 

“So he offered you the position out of gratitude?”

“No, Lady Malfoy—since the Stone was destroyed, I’m afraid Master Flamel’s time on this earth is coming to a close. He wishes to impart his knowledge and thought I was the best candidate for that honor due to my interest in alchemy. Frankly, I was flattered he’d considered me at all.”

“False modesty doesn’t look good on you, Miss Alphonse.” Lucius parlayed, and Hermione’s soft laughter shocked Draco even more. 

The Granger he knew from school, would’ve hurled an insult at his Father’s tactless comment. 

“I’ve never been accused of that affliction. Being _a know it all?_ Yes. A _swot?_ Most definitely. I’m sure if you lack context, your son probably has much _clearer_ reflection on all the colorful euphemisms that I was known by at school.”

Hermione’s amber eyes locked in challenge with silver-grey, and Draco smirked and nodded back in kind. 

“I do believe you’d be correct.”

“Well, there you have it.”

The rest of the conversation was innocuous and once coffee was done—Pierre stood and asked Draco’s parents to join him for drinks in his study. 

Once they were gone, Draco stood up and walked around the table, sliding Hermione’s chair out and offering her his hand, which she took with a nod of thanks. 

She then led him to her sanctuary.

She couldn’t help but smile at Malfoy’s look of awe as they walked into her family library. 

He seemed genuinely impressed. 

“This is as large as my library at home.” He admitted softly. 

“Hmm,” she wandered to the sofa and sat down as she watched Malfoy peruse the shelves. “I must’ve _missed_ that room when I was there before.”

Draco turned sharply, his nostrils flaring in irritation before he sighed in resignation. 

“Are we going to address the troll in the room?”

“If you’d like?”

Draco sat down across from Granger and tilted his head at her, taking in her posture and expression—which gave very little away. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t hexed me yet.”

“You’re a guest in my home, Malfoy. Whatever my personal feelings, I would never dishonor my Father in such a way.”

“So you don’t deny wanting to hex me?”

Hermione didn’t reply, and Draco chuckled and shook his head wondering not for the first time this past week—just how well he really _knew_ Granger. 

“Look, I can’t call you Granger anymore. So, what would be acceptable to you?”

“Hermione is fine.”

“Then I would appreciate it if you’d call me Draco.”

“Done.”

He nodded, and leant forward—his forearms resting on his thighs. “I assume you’re aware of the parameters of the contract?”

Hermione chuckled and nodded. “How _very Gryffindor_ of you, Draco, to have right at it?”

“I don’t see the necessity in prevarication at this point, do you?”

“No. Your Father told me you were seeing a witch. Do you intend to continue that relationship?”

Draco sat back, somewhat surprised Gran...no, Hermione had decided to bring that point up first. 

“Astoria is aware of my situation and the contract. She’s not adverse to the idea.”

She didn’t know how she felt about that, nor about the fact that Malfoy had already been looking for an out, but she wasn’t surprised.

“And is that what you wish?” She asked again evenly, trying her level best to keep her traitorous heart and stomach from sinking. “Do you wish to take a Mistress?”

Draco maintained eye contact, desperately trying to get a sense on where Hermione’s thoughts were at, but she was a closed book and it left him feeling slightly frustrated. 

“I’m seriously considering it.” Was all he said at last. 

“Very well.” Hermione nodded as she stood suddenly, shocking Draco with the swiftness to the end of their conversation. “Allow me to escort you back to your parents.”

“Hermione, I only said I was considering it...”

“I understand. Please let me know when you decide.”

“What about _you?”_ Draco interrupted icily. “Do you intend to take a lover?”

Draco watched as Hermione’s stoic expression melted into an almost pleased smirk. 

_**What the fuck?!?** _

“And if I told you that I was also considering it?”

“Then I’d ask with whom?”

“I don’t think you really want the answer to that, Draco. _Do you?”_

Draco’s gaze narrowed as he considered all the possibilities until the truth hit him like a bludger to the head, as he stood up angrily and hissed out, “ _ **Potter? Are you serious?”**_

“What’s the matter, Draco? Does my choice of potential consort not meet with your approval?”

“No it _doesn’t!”_ He growled out angrily, and watched as Hermione’s face bloomed into a genuine smile of triumph. 

“ _Too bad.”_

She turned around and left him standing there, gaping after her like a fish out of water. 

**How in the fuck did that just happen?!**

Was she _lying?_

He almost hadn’t believed his Mum when she’d warned him about Hermione’s Slytherin side, but now?

Now?

He was both equal parts angry and shockingly... 

_Aroused!_

Fucking, hellish, witch!

What kind of game was she playing at?

He immediately stormed out of the library and followed her back towards her Father’s study, and was about to halt her progress but she knocked on the door and was given permission to enter before he could do so. 

“Ah, Angel. Are you done with your little tête-à-tête?”

Hermione briefly glanced over at Draco’s parents and Lucius looked like he wanted to be ill, while Narcissa was staring at her son with an almost... _knowing_ expression on her face. 

Odd. 

“Yes, Papa. More than. If I might bid our guests a good evening? I have plans for tomorrow and I need to get my beauty sleep.”

“Ah, with Mr. Potter?”

Hermione nodded, and she bit she lip at the fierce glare from Draco, as well as the look of abject disgust from Lucius. 

Both were rather amusing. 

“It was lovely to have you all here this evening. I do hope you’ve enjoyed your visit?” Hermione inquired sweetly. 

Narcissa stood and walked over, an appraising gleam in her eye as she air kissed Hermione’s cheeks in parting. “It was very _informative_ , Miss Alphonse. Enjoy your day tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy. Shall I pass on your greetings to Harry?”

“Of course.”

Hermione went over and kissed her Father good night on the cheek, and gave Draco one final pointed look before she left the room, skipping upstairs the entire way to her room. 

_Tonight couldn’t have gone better!_


	6. The Boy Who Had No Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco doesn’t handle Hermione’s declaration well, but has help trying to figure out what to do.

Draco barreled through the floo and stormed out of the receiving room, ignoring both his parents calling his name as he bolted for his bedroom. Once he was there, he warded it and silenced it before taking out his wand and wreaking havoc.

His shouts of _fucking bitch_ , _manipulative cunt_ and _vicious swot_ —were yelled with distinction, as he laid waste to every piece of furniture in his room. 

He’d never been this angry before...

_Never!_

How in the fuck had he not seen that one coming?

The Weasel King he could’ve lived with, in fact? He would’ve gloated and lorded it over the prat for the sheer enjoyment of it. 

Krum? 

Whilst he could admit that it would’ve given him pause—the wizard was all brawn and no intellect, so _yes_ —he would’ve felt comforted in his self-superiority. 

But Potter?

_Fucking witch!_

The one wizard he’d always felt inferior to. The one wizard he’d _never_ been able to best!

And now that prick was going to have his wife too!

_**Shite! His wife!** _

He slid down against the wall, allowing the support to guide his descent as his head hit his knees with a thud, as the adrenaline coursing through his body finally started to abate somewhat. 

Then his floo chimed. 

Looking over, he sighed before waving his wand and opening the grate. 

“Draco?”

He sighed at hearing Astoria’s sweet voice calling out his name. 

“ _Hey_ , Tori.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m here, love. I’m just not the best company right now.”

There was a brief pause, and then a belabored sigh before she demanded, “Draco, _please_ come where I can see you.”

Rolling onto his knees, he used his wand to instantly repair some of the items in his room he hadn’t completely destroyed, and vanished the ones he had before he crawled over to the hearth and sat down cross-legged in front of the flames. He could now see Tori’s face clearly. 

“What happened?” She asked. “You look _horrible_.”

“Thanks, Tori.”

“You’re welcome, now spill!”

He chuckled in spite of how he felt. Tori could always make him feel better, even when he didn’t want to. 

“Where do I begin?”

“Well,” she smiled, “start from the beginning.”

“ _Cheeky_ witch.”

Her laughter caused his mouth to quirk slightly, but then he remembered how his evening had ended, causing his mouth to furrow back into a disgusted frown. 

“That bad?”

“I should’ve listened to my Mother.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Granger... _Hermione_...” Draco paused, and then leant forward so Tori could see him better, “When I got there, we went for a stroll on the grounds. Hermione was polite, but aloof. We didn’t talk much. At dinner, she’d mentioned that she wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts. She’s taking her NEWTS by correspondence. It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“You’d thought she’d be returning to Hogwarts?”

“Pretty much. Anyway, she was offered an apprenticeship once her NEWT results come in. It’s pretty much a formality, because knowing the _swot_ like I do, there’s no way she won’t ace those tests.”

Astoria chose to ignore Draco’s whining for the moment as she inquired—seriously intrigued, “Whom has offered her a place without having her NEWTS completed? I don’t think I’ve ever _heard_ of such a thing?”

“No, neither have I.” He bit back petulantly, secretly more impressed than he’d ever let on just whom Granger had managed to secure an apprenticeship with. “You’re even going to be more floored when I tell you whom it’s with.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Whom?”

“Nicolas Flamel.”

There it was. Tori’s mouth gaped open in shocked awe as she stared at Draco in wonder. 

“How is that even possible? He doesn’t take on apprentices!”

“Believe me, I _know_.”

“You’ve always been fascinated with alchemy. Finding the _panchrest_ in particular.”

“Yes Tori, I’m _aware_.”

Astoria bristled at the heavy sarcasm in Draco’s voice, and even though she instinctively knew he wasn’t upset with her, it still stung a bit. 

He must’ve sensed it too, because he sighed and said softly, “Sorry, Tori.”

“No..no, Draco. _I get it._ But why do I feel there’s more?”

“Because you’re especially intuitive?”

“Flatterer.”

This did get a half-smile from him. 

“Hermione and I talked alone in her family library after dinner. I might’ve opened the dialogue towards the consort clause of the contract and she came out and asked me if I was considering taking one.”

“And you’d said?”

“That I was seriously considering it. I know we’ve briefly discussed it, Tori, but I also feel horrible for even asking such a thing of you.”

“I know, Draco. I still have two years of school left and I won’t be of age until December, so there is still time to figure this out. You did mention you won’t have to have anything finalized until right before you’re married, right?”

“Yes.” He swallowed uneasily. “That’s true. However, when I told Hermione I was considering it, she abruptly ended the conversation. Told me to let her know when I’ve decided.”

“Okay? So what’s so awful about that?”

“Because when I asked her if she was planning on taking a lover, she said she was also considering it.”

This factoid caused Astoria to choke out a snort. “What? Did she really _indicate_ as such?”

“Her exact words were ‘ _and if I told you I was considering it?’._.. _ **bitch**_...” Draco hissed the last word under his breath, but Astoria heard it. 

“And this was _after_ you’d admitted to considering the possibility too, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm, she may have just said that to save face, Draco?”

“I considered that briefly, until I realized just whom she has in mind!”

His voice had elevated again, in his fury—and Astoria could see Draco’s temper flaring. 

“Who could it be to have you acting like this? Surely not Ronald Weasley?”

Draco guffawed out a laugh. “Merlin, no! There’s no way I’d be threatened by that git!”

_Threatened?_

That wording was unexpected, she thought. 

“Then who, Draco?”

“Potter!”

Astoria’s gasp was loud enough that Draco heard it, and he nodded in confirmation. 

“That was my reaction...well, more towards the fact that I was irate.”

Then something unexpected happened—Astoria _laughed_.

And Draco stared at her like she’d lost her fucking mind!

“Tori? This _isn’t_ funny!”

“ _Oh, but it is!”_ She smiled widely. “Hermione Granger Alphonse picks the one wizard that she _knows_ will get under your skin. The fact that Potter is helping her? Draco? Did you ever think that maybe they’re having a _go_ at you? I know many of us speculated in school that there might’ve been something going on with the two of them, but we all pretty much realized that she had a thing for Weasley and Potter was with Ginerva.”

“Okay, fair point _but_ —Potter and the Weaselette aren’t together anymore. And Hermione and the Weasel aren’t either. By all accounts, she and Potter were alone for months together on the run. What if something fundamentally shifted there? She’s spending the day with him tomorrow too. So as much as I’d like to think they’re faking this? I don’t think they are.”

“And you don’t know how that makes you feel?”

“Is that petty of me?”

“Yes, but it’s understandable. Draco—in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once liked to _share_ your things. You may not like Hermione Alphonse, but she’s going to be your _wife_. You have to consummate the marriage and sire two heirs. Are you really going to be able to go through the motions of being intimate and then moving on? Letting her do the same with Potter?”

Draco’s head fell into his hands as he groaned out in irritation. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Tori always knew what points to make and she knew him better than anyone. 

Except Pansy—but that definitely wouldn’t help him right about now. 

“I _don’t_ want to marry her.” He mumbled through his hands, not wanting to see Tori’s expression of disapproval at his pouting. 

“And I’m sure the feeling is _mutual_ , Draco.”

“Thanks, Tori.”

“Just keeping it honest. No matter what you like to think, Draco Malfoy, you’re not the only eligible wizard out there.”

Lifting his head, he smirked at the little vixen who was grinning impishly at him. 

“Minx.”

“Yes, dear.”

Sighing, Draco rubbed his hand on the back of his neck in defeat. “Tori, be honest? Do you really see yourself playing the role of my Mistress? Your Father would likely never allow it...we both know it.”

Draco watched Tori’s gaze narrow slightly as she stared over his shoulder briefly, before her eyes locked with his again. 

“I’ll admit, it’s a long shot. If you hadn’t been marked, he may have been more willing—but we both know that it was always going to be an issue with my Father. Despite my parents feelings on blood purity, he didn’t follow the Dark Lord. Not in practice. I care for you, Draco, very much. You’re one of my best friends. I don’t want to lose that. I know we haven’t made any definitive promises, but I’d always believed that we’d be together. Now? That seems fraught with difficulty. I’m not saying you’re not worth it, because I believe you are...”

“But?”

“But...” she sighed heavier this time, and Draco could see she was trying valiantly to hold her emotions together. “But, we have some time to decide. Making this decision tonight while you’re feeling angry is _not_ the right time. You haven’t even _tried_ to get to know Hermione Alphonse. At least not properly. All you’ve seen is the girl, whom you’ve disliked, primarily because of her Muggle background. Something tells me that side of her isn’t going to go away just because she is now the Lady Alphonse. So I suppose you’ll need to decide if you’re willing to get to know all of her? To try and find common ground, if for no other reason than you’ll be sharing children with her, Draco! If you two can’t find a way to at least be friendly, how will you ever co-parent?”

Draco sat there stunned. 

He hadn’t even considered that reality at all. 

He definitely didn’t want his children growing up the way he had. His parents loved each other it was true, but his Father valued status more than anything and Draco just wanted his children to be happy.

_Truly happy._

“You didn’t even consider that, did you?”

“No.” He replied, chastened. 

“Perhaps you need to.”

“I know.” He nodded slowly. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Of course. Your trial, or whatever—will happen early next week, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Then perhaps it might be better if we can talk more in person? Owl post and floo calls are lovely, but I haven’t seen you in over a year, Draco.”

“I know, Tori. I’d like to see you properly too.”

“Good. I’ll check in with you next week. Try and get some rest and for Salazar’s sake, Draco! Don’t destroy your room again. You can’t keep doing that!”

“Of course.” He smiled genuinely this time, “Goodnight, Tori.”

“Sweet dreams, Draco.”

The floo flashed, and then the call ended leaving Draco sitting there alone in his room feeling nearly as lost as he had after he’d taken the Dark Mark. Rolling up his left sleeve, he stared at the offensive object and wished more than anything that he’d never been branded into that madman’s service. 

That he could’ve been allowed to make a _different_ choice. 

But wishing and getting, were two different realities and Draco Malfoy had never been given the luxury of choice. 

Especially not when it mattered most.


	7. Time of Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits Hermione’s home and meets her Father, and then the two spend a day in Magical Paris.

The next morning Hermione was pacing anxiously by the floo in her receiving room, waiting for Harry to show. He still had ten minutes before he was officially supposed to be arriving—but she was excited to see him. 

Her Father had shared his conversation with the elder Malfoy’s over breakfast, and Hermione had laughed when he’d shared Lucius Malfoy’s initial reaction about Harry’s offer. The pompous blonde had sputtered incoherently and Narcissa had to smack him on his back, to bring him back to himself. 

She _wished_ she’d could’ve seen it for herself. 

When the floo finally chimed a moment later, she turned to face it and smiled widely when Harry stepped through—dressed in a nice pair of new fitted jeans, a torso hugging button down shirt with a jacket slung over his arm. She briefly took in how _yummy_ he looked before she rushed into his arms and felt herself being lifted off the ground into a crushing hug. 

Then she felt his head tilt into her hair as he visibly inhaled her perfume, and she couldn’t help the shiver that raced through her body at the simple intimacy, that left her _reeling_. 

“Hey.” He whispered. 

“ _Hi_.” Her voice was breathy, and she felt Harry’s responding tremor before he gently set her on the ground. Then he took in her appearance with a lifted eyebrow. 

“You look _very_ nice.”

And she did in fitted jeans, an off the shoulder blouse and a pair of knee high boots.

“Thanks.” She blushed, and Harry’s answering grin was adorable. 

“So, what’s on the _agenda_ for today?”

“Well, what would you say to a trip to Paris?”

“Really?” Harry blanched. “Muggle Paris?”

“No, silly. _Wizarding Paris._ I was going to meet with Nicolas Flamel today, and I’d thought you might like to meet him too?”

“That’s _brilliant!”_ Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Although I should warn you that Ron accosted me before I floo’d over.”

“What did you tell him?”

“He doesn’t seem to believe the letter you finally wrote to him, telling him that you strongly felt that you both were better off as just friends.”

“Lovely.” She groaned. “Why must he be _so_ difficult?”

“Come on, Hermione? This is _Ron_ we’re talking about. When has he **not** been difficult?”

“Touché.” She pulled Harry into the hallway and led him down towards her Father’s study. 

“How was last night?”

Looking over her shoulder, she grinned wickedly. “Fine.”

“I _know_ that look.”

“ _Do you?”_

“Yes, it’s the same one you had on your face after Umbridge got taken away by the centaurs.”

“ _Foul woman._ ”

“I agree, but let’s stay on topic. So? What happened? Did you talk to Malfoy?”

“It was kind of required, Harry.”

He pulled her to a stop and gave her a strange look. “Did you tell him of my offer?”

“In a roundabout way. He actually was the one to bring up the consort clause, and when I’d asked him about Astoria, he said he was considering it.”

“Prat.” Harry growled in disgust, before his lips quirked up in glee. “Did you make him guess it was me?”

Hermione burst out in giggles and nodded. “You know me too well, Harry Potter.”

“Perhaps. But I can’t imagine the git was thrilled with that fact. Did he blow a fuse?”

“Very much so. It was _hilarious!”_

She went to move them back towards her Father’s study, but Harry shook his head. 

“Hermione, didn’t you mention there was a consummation clause? You’re going to have to...”

Quickly placing her finger on Harry’s lip, she silently returned his gesture. “In vitro, Harry.”

Green eyes widened, as he whistled in appreciation. “Would that work?”

“Maybe? I don’t see why it wouldn’t. My Father is looking into it. If Draco Malfoy thinks he is going to take my virginity with the express desire to take a Mistress after our children are born, he’s got another thing coming! I simply won’t degrade myself in such a way.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully, secretly not upset at all about this new idea. 

“Okay? Say it works? Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled Hermione into his arms and tilted her head up so he could see her face clearly. “Will you live separately? What about the kids? Will they live here? _Who_ gets custody? How does that work in the Wizarding World?”

Hermione’s expression dropped as she hadn’t considered that at all!

“Didn’t think about it, eh?”

“No...”

Harry chuckled and she smacked his chest in faux irritation. 

“Ouch!”

“I didn’t even hit you that hard!” 

“So did!” He bantered back. 

“Quit being a baby.”

Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Hermione to smirk at him. 

_This was a side of Harry she’d never seen before._

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Oh, he’s _here_. All angsty, brooding and unsociable. I decided however, that if I was going to be serious about this offer, then I was going to need to step up my game. I can be charming, when I have to be.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” he quipped with a pinch to her side, that had her giggling again. “But seriously? I’d never thought that you were interested in me like that. I’ve always assumed it was Ron, and truth be told I didn’t want to take a chance and ruin our friendship if I couldn’t give you everything you deserved.”

“Which was?”

“Marriage...a family?” Harry sighed softly. “Just because Voldemort is gone, doesn’t mean all those feelings aren’t still a part of me, Hermione. The anger, frustration, distrust, paranoia...the only person who’s stood by me through everything is _you_. You’re the only person I trust _completely_...you know that, right?”

“I do.”

“I’m going to be hounded for the rest of my life. The Boy Who Vanquished. _The Chosen One._ Merlin, I can’t go anywhere these days without being followed! Can you imagine what being in a relationship with me would be like?”

“Oh, I don’t know? I found myself thinking about it quite a bit last night!”

“Oh?” He grinned mischievously. “And what conclusions did you come up with?”

“That no matter what happens, I can’t leave you. I need you in my life, in whatever way that works for you. I won’t ask for more than you can give me, Harry. Godric knows, what I can give back is limited too.”

“We’re a right pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Hermione leant up and kissed his cheek softly, feeling his hand gripping her hip momentarily before she pulled back with a wink. “Now, I would like to introduce you to my Father, if you’re okay with that?”

“Lead the way, love.”

Hermione’s grin was blinding at the endearment, as she pulled Harry along the rest of the way until she got to her Father’s study and knocked on the door. 

“Come in.”

Opening the large oak door, Hermione popped her head inside and said, “Hi, Papa. Do you have a moment to meet Harry formally?”

“Of course, Angel! Bring the boy inside!”

Hermione opened the door all the way and smiled at Jean Paul with a brief nod. The wizard’s eyes widened noticeably when he took in Harry, and bowed in welcome. 

“Mr. Potter.”

“Harry, this is my Father’s most trusted aide. Jean Paul Duvries. Jean Paul, this is Harry Potter.”

Harry nodded at the man. “Pleasure.”

Jean Paul smiled slightly as he returned the sentiment before excusing himself, closing the door behind him as Pierre stood up and rounded his desk—his hand outstretched in welcome and Harry didn’t miss a beat—taking it firmly within his own. 

“Sir.”

“Harry, this is my Father, Pierre Alphonse...Papa? This is my best friend, Harry Potter.”

“It is high time I was finally able to meet you, Mr. Potter. Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Harry sat down on the loveseat and Hermione sat down next to him, while her Father made himself comfortable in a wing-back chair near the fireplace. 

“So, my daughter tells me you will starting Auror training soon?”

“August. I know it probably sounds cliche, but there’s still at large Death Eaters out there, and there’s a large part of me that won’t rest until they’re all brought to justice.”

“That’s commendable.” Pierre nodded. “It must be a relief however, to finally have the worst of it behind you?”

“Yes.” Harry returned the gesture. “I feel though, as if I should apologize.”

“Harry...”

“No, Hermione! Your Father deserves to hear this from me.”

Pierre watched as his daughter sighed, but surprisingly acquiesced to her best friend. 

“I didn’t know about Hermione’s past, but even if I’d had—I’m not sure I could’ve been selfless enough to let her leave me. Despite the fact that I knew she never would—I don’t imagine her friendship with me was something you’d anticipated happening when you decided to have her attend Hogwarts. Am I correct?”

“You _are_.”

“I’d often wondered in our early years, why she hadn’t been sorted into Ravenclaw. It wasn’t until our fifth year that I’d realized why she’d ended up in Gryffindor. _Her bravery is unparalleled.”_

Pierre smiled widely, and decided right then and there that despite his misgivings about Mr. Potter, he rather liked the young wizard. 

“You know her well.”

“I’d like to think so, but...I’m sure she’s told you that I would like to know her even better—if she allows it.”

Pierre noticed his daughter blushing, but she was smiling adoringly at Mr. Potter, and it was clear to see that Harry Potter adored his daughter just as much. 

“You wouldn’t be put off by her marriage, nor her having to bear children with another wizard?”

“No. I know that must sound odd, but as I’ve told Hermione—the only reason I’ve never pursued something more permanent with her is because I wasn’t sure I could give her what she deserved. I don’t see marriage nor children, as part of my future.”

“You could change your mind?”

Pierre was surprised at the dark look the crossed the young lad’s face. 

“I’ve been _hunted and hounded_ in some form or another since I was eleven. My fame precedes me wherever I go, but now that Voldemort is dead? I’ll never be rid of it. I’ll _always_ have a target on my back. I’ll _never_ know peace. The closest I’ve ever come to it is with your daughter. She cares nothing for my fame—she’s only ever cared for Harry. Am I selfish in taking advantage of this situation? Probably. But you have my word that nothing is more important to me than she is. In whatever capacity—I can’t not have her in my life.”

Pierre leant forward and eyed the young wizard closely. 

“ _And Draco Malfoy?_ What if he were to decide to give this union a real chance?”

Harry shrugged. “If that _were_ to occur, and that was what Hermione wanted? I’d still be her best friend.”

Pierre nodded, infinitely pleased. 

“You are a good wizard, Mr. Potter. For myself? I owe you a _profound_ apology. Over the years, I wasn’t as supportive of your friendship with my daughter as I should’ve been. My only concern was for her safety and welfare. Many a night we would argue over my desire to remove her from Hogwarts, but she was stubbornly adamant that she would never forgive me if I took her away from you. She claimed you needed her, and in my selfishness—I was too blind to see the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That she needs you just as much.”

Hermione launched herself from her seat and hugged her Father fiercely. 

“ _Thank you, Papa.”_

“You’re welcome, Angel.” Pierre then nodded again at the Potter lad. “Just be there for her, Mr. Potter. That’s all I will ask of you.”

“You have my word, Sir.”

“Call me Pierre, Son. Something tells me I’ll be seeing quite a bit of you in the future.”

“Then please call me, Harry.”

“It is done.”

Pierre dismissed the children with a wave of his hand, and told them to enjoy their time in Paris. 

Once they’d set foot on the _Rue de Magique,_ Harry offered Hermione his arm and together—the two of them made their way towards the 3rd arrondissement, and the Rue de Montmorency, where Flamel House was located. 

“I didn’t realize Magical Paris was so big.” Harry whispered, as several witches and wizards stopped and stared at both he and Hermione. 

The looks were as expected—filled with awe and reverence. 

Once they were finally at their destination, Hermione gestured towards the door and Harry opened it up, following her inside. 

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Alphonse, comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?” 

Harry glanced up and saw a very thin man with stark white thinning hair, his skin looked like paper—but his eyes however, were a clear bright blue. 

“Bonjour, Maître Flamel! Je vais assez bien, et toi?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at Hermione’s perfect French. It was rather sexy, if he was being entirely honest. 

“I’m very well, my dear. And this must be, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, Sir.” Hermione pulled Harry forward. “Harry, this is Nicolas Flamel.”

Harry bowed in respect. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir.”

“Nonsense, my boy! The honor is all mine! I had no idea Miss Alphonse was bringing you with her today or I would’ve had my lovely Pernelle, here to greet you both! But alas, she is feeling a bit under the weather at present.”

“Oh no! Please give her our best wishes, will you?”

“Of course, dear!” Nicolas gestured over to the far wall where several tomes were located. “This is some early research for you, my dear. Have a look-see over and we will talk again in a week?”

“That sounds perfect!” 

Hermione gently inspected the books with a happy smile, and Harry couldn’t help but watch her fondly as she checked each one thoroughly, before carefully placing it into a special box that she’d taken out of her beaded bag, enlarged and then set the books inside—before shrinking it and putting them away when she was done.

“Interesting contraption.” Harry grinned. 

“It’s a specially warded box that’s charmed to protect the contents from theft, fire, water—pretty much anything you can think of.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head in amusement. Leave it to Hermione to create her own charm so she could protect books. 

“You’re having a laugh at me!”

“No, love,” Harry shook his head, “you just never cease to amaze me, is all.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Harry pulled her into his arms and tilted her head up again to look into her beautiful amber eyes and grinned. “ _The very best.”_

Their smiles were completely matching, and they were so engrossed in each other they didn’t see the young witch outside the shop staring into the store—her expression thoughtful. 

“Come on, love, show me Paris?”

“Your wish is my command.”

When they stepped out of the store, they’d made it around the corner before _bedlam_ descended...as several flashes of cameras went off in succession. Harry looked up and glared in anger, while Hermione sighed unhappily. 

“Miss Alphonse?” A reporter called out loudly, “Is it true that you are back in France to stay?”

“Miss Alphonse, why did your Father feel it necessary to hide your identity at school?”

“Mr. Potter? Are you and Miss Alphonse here on a date?”

The barrage of questions continued in a similar vein, until Harry took out his wand and silenced the entire press horde and their incessant chattering. Once everyone realized what he’d done, the surrounding crowd became very quiet. 

“ _Listen_ , folks? I’m here to spend the day with my best friend. We’ve just fought in a war, and are trying to enjoy some much needed peace, before you all decided to descend on our day. _So let me make this clear, eh?_ And I’m only going to say this _one_ time? Nod if you all understand?”

Everyone immediately nodded, and Hermione covered her mouth as she tried her best not to snicker at how utterly terrifying Harry could be when he got like this. 

It was a turn on, too—if she was being completely honest. 

“There’s to be _no_ speculation on Hermione’s nor mine, personal life. Nor will any of you _insinuate_ anything salacious? If you do? _I will sue you for every last galleon.”_

He made eye contact with everyone there, and waited until they all seemed to comprehend. 

“Now! You may write that Hermione and myself are here enjoying Paris. She was excited to show me her home country since I’ve never had the good fortune to visit. We’ve just arrived, and I would like to enjoy the shops in peace as it seems like such a beautiful place. I did visit with her Father, The Grand Duke, Pierre Alphonse this morning. It was my first time meeting him formally. He was _very welcoming and fully supports my friendship with Hermione._ I was very fortunate to have Hermione’s unequivocal support throughout my fight against Voldemort and would’ve _never_ succeeded without her by my side.”

He turned his head and smiled down genuinely at his best friend, and felt her squeeze his arm in gratitude. 

“Harry and I are just happy to be able to enjoy some quality time together. He’s been more than understanding and supportive of my circumstances, such as they are. I consider myself fortunate to have him as someone that I can always count on in my _time of need_. Thank you and please enjoy the rest of your day.”

The reporters shuffled uneasily, but one singular glare from the Chosen One had them scurrying back to whatever hidey-hole they’d popped out of. 

“That was brilliant.” Hermione muttered lowly after they were all gone, while Harry just shrugged. 

“You were rather fantastic, too. Especially counting on me in your _time of need?_ Should we just _announce_ it now?”

Hermione threw back her head and laughed out joyously, while Harry grinned happily at her. 

Neither one noticing the pair of dark eyes watching them with interest. 


	8. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco realizes what he must do, even though he’s not happy about it.

The next morning, Draco _slammed_ down the Prophet down on the table—not needing to see anymore of the smiling faces of Granger and Potter looking utterly besotted with each other as they strolled through Paris together. His Father had sneered openly at the article, but his Mother had hummed thoughtfully before taking a final dainty sip of her early morning cuppa. 

“Do you have _something_ to say, Mother?”

“Not especially, my Dragon. Although I did _warn_ you of Miss Alphonse’s Slytherin side. It would appear as if she’s not being shy in showing off her friendship with Mr. Potter.”

“She’s going to make me a laughing stock.” Draco muttered angrily, as he butchered his kippers into tiny pieces. 

“Nonsense, dearest. If you _do_ decide to take a consort, it would be well within Miss Alphonse’s right to follow suit. You can’t expect her to remain faithful to you, if you’re going to be bedding another.”

“But I haven’t even decided to do so! At least not yet? But she’s acting as if the decision’s already been made!”

“Perhaps in her mind it has.” Lucius drawled uneasily. “You haven’t even attempted to contact her, to set up a time to visit? To try and find common ground?”

He sneered at his Father. “It’s not like she’s tried to get in touch with me either, Father.”

“Oh _stop it,_ Draco!” Lucius admonished briskly, “You’re acting like a spoilt twelve year old. How is she _supposed_ to react when you tell her you’re considering a consort? You didn’t even _try_ to frame the answer in such a way that would give you an opening—because despite your protests, your intention was to hurt the witch, and in your arrogance, you never even _considered_ the possibility of Mr. Potter. Even your Mother and I knew deep down, that there was a likelihood that Miss Alphonse would turn to the wizard. They are quite close and trust each other with their lives. What I can’t conceive, is how you didn’t think it was a possibility? It was _you_ who started that particular rumor of them together back during your shared Fourth Year—if memory serves.”

“Thank you, Father, for that wonderful assessment! I’d mistakenly assumed she was with the Weasel and Potter with the Weaselette. How was I supposed to know that those relationships had ended?”

“You might have asked before being coerced into a conversation you weren’t ready for, Son.” Lucius drawled out arrogantly as he folded his napkin, signaling he was done with his meal. “If you make no effort to try and court the witch, how would you _suggest_ she take your lack of interest?”

“Who says I’m interested?” Draco growled out petulantly. 

Both Lucius and Narcissa eyed each other with matching expressions of exasperation, but neither decided to comment on the obvious. 

Their son was acting like a _jealous fool._

Whether it was due to his assertion of being made a laughing stock or some other feeling, it was clear he detested the idea of his future bride taking on Harry Potter as a potential lover. 

Setting down his napkin, Draco stood up. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. Have you heard anything from the Ministry yet, Father?”

“Our solicitor will be handling the details with the Wizengamot today. We shouldn’t need to appear, but if that changes, I will let you know.”

“Of course. Excuse me, Mother.”

Narcissa watched her only child leave their dining room and once he was gone, she turned to her husband and wiggled her fingers for the newspaper, which he handed over with relish. As she perused the article, a faint smirk quirked up on her mouth. 

“The witch is rather devious and clever.” She hummed thoughtfully, before setting the Prophet down and pouring herself another cuppa. 

“So you caught it too?”

“Yes. _A time of need, indeed._ I do believe our son noticed the double entendre as well, hence why he’s in such a pique.”

“That picture looks genuine enough.”

“I have no doubt that there is genuine sentiment between the two. Is it love? I believe they love each other but are not necessarily _in love_ with each other. There is a familiarity there, and a deep respect and trust. Marriages have been built on less.”

“Do you think that our son, is really going to be accepting if Miss Alphonse decides to engage with a consort? Particularly the Potter lad?”

“No. I don’t believe he will. He still isn’t 100% convinced that it is a fait accompli, hence why he’s being stubborn. I do believe that once he gets over his reticence and comes to the same conclusions we have, he will step up his game and do what is necessary to woo Miss Alphonse, as he should. If for no other reason than pride.”

“She may see through that, Cissy? That witch is _not_ a simpleton.”

“No, she is not. However I do believe in her heart, she is a traditionalist, and the idea of a cold marriage, even one with our son would not sit well with her if there was a legitimate chance for something more genuine and lasting.”

Lucius didn’t reply, as he had considered that as well. He also knew his son, and his penchant for not liking to share. But Draco could be stubborn and willful when backed into a corner and he had to wonder how in Salazar’s name two such diametrically opposing forces would be able to come together and find common ground. 

Draco at that moment, was in his room sitting in front of his hearth, staring into the empty grate with a resigned expression on his face. As much as he cared for Tori, and had legitimately wondered if they could eventually have something more—he knew deep down in his heart he couldn’t ask her to sacrifice her future happiness for his own selfish reasons. She was still young, not even of age yet—and had a simple way about her for all her Pureblood upbringing. She had never desired him because of his status as a Malfoy—no. 

She had liked him—Draco. 

She had taken the time to see underneath all his anger and self-recriminations, to the wizard underneath. 

And that was why he adored her. 

She made him feel safe. 

It wasn’t a feeling he’d ever been used to growing up. 

He grabbed the floo pot and threw some powder into the flames—calling out her name. After a few moments, he smiled when her delicate features shimmered into view. 

“Hey, Tori.”

“Hello, Draco, what a coincidence! I was just about to floo you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She smiled, but he could see the slight straining around her eyes. “I suppose you saw the Prophet this morning?”

“I did.”

“What did you think?”

He didn’t reply immediately as he considered how he wanted to frame his answer, but after a few moments he sighed and said evenly, “I suppose I had assumed that Hermione was having a go at me when she threw Potter in my face, but looking at that article, I’m fairly certain she wasn’t.”

“No, I would tend to think not.”

Something in Tori’s voice gave him pause. 

“What do you mean?” He asked warily. 

Tori’s mouth flattened, and her gaze narrowed in the flames before she replied, “I was in Paris with my Mother and Daphne yesterday. I just happened to be in the 3rd arrondissement near Flamel House when I saw Miss Alphonse and Harry Potter walking into his shop. When I glanced through the window, I saw them together.”

“And what did you see, Tori?”

She heard the repressed fury in Draco’s voice, but she wasn’t sure exactly was the sentiment behind it. 

“Potter had his arms around her,” She just couldn’t bring herself to say the witch’s name, “he was cupping her face tenderly and the look they shared...well, you could tell there was something there. Later, I saw them walk out together and witnessed the impromptu press conference. Afterwards, I overheard Potter say something along the lines of ‘should we just announce it now?’ Then they left for the afternoon and I watched them for a small while, they were arm in arm but beyond that I didn’t see any inappropriate displays of affection.”

“Why didn’t you floo me last night and tell me?”

“Draco? Really? Forgive me if this is difficult for me! I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that you are to be married to someone else and despite the fact that we’ve never formally discussed it, I had always hoped in my heart that we would...”

He sighed in defeat as Tori’s voice fell away causing him to grimace. 

“I’m sorry, Tori. I’m not angry at you. I’m upset by the situation.”

She nodded, and then her face flickered in the flames for a split second before she asked quietly, “Why did you floo me?”

“I’ve been thinking...”

“About?”

“Us. Well, more specifically about the consort clause.”

“I _see_.”

“I’m not sure you do though. Tori, you’re still young and as much as I care for you and had hoped for a different outcome? That’s not my reality anymore and I realized this morning that I can’t disrespect you in that way. I won’t ask you to give up your future for me. You deserve a wizard who can marry you properly and shower you with everything you deserve. A wizard who can give you legitimate children and have a family with only you. That _isn’t_ going to be me and as much as I’d hoped for differently, we both know the truth.”

The soft sigh that fell through the flames, made his gut clench in shamed impotence. 

_Why did this shite always seem to happen to him?_

“And if I told you that it didn’t matter to me?”

“Little, Tori, we both know that’s a lie. It matters very much to you. Do you remember when we were younger? How old were we?”

“You were nine, and I had just turned seven.”

“Ah yes,” He chuckled deeply, “Do you remember what you’d said to me?”

She huffed, but she nodded. “That I wanted to find my Prince and be his Princess.”

“And do you remember what I told you?”

“Yes, Draco—you said that only the finest Prince in all the land would be good enough for your little Tori.”

“And I was right. That Prince is _not me_ , love. As much as we both wanted differently, I can’t give you that, and I care enough for you to not allow you to sacrifice your dreams for my reality. I’m a selfish prat, Tori. Always have been, and you know this about me better than most and yet you’ve still cared for me. But in this one instance, I’m _unwilling_ to put my needs first. I won’t do that to you.”

He watched, as she wiped a lone tear from her cheek as she stared morosely into the flames. 

“You’re _really_ going to give her a chance, aren’t you?”

“I need to _try_. I won’t be the one to cock this up. If she decides to take a consort, then I’ll cross that bridge when it comes, but it won’t be you. I won’t do that to you.”

“Of all the times you choose to be unselfish, Draco Malfoy!”

He snorted out a stunted laugh and nodded. “Yeah, well—don’t let it get around. I can’t have my reputation for being a foul, evil git ruined? Now can I?”

“Not to worry, Draco, no one will ever hear it from me about how wonderful you can be when you put your heart to something.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Stay in France, okay? I don’t think I can bear to see you right now. I’ll need some time to come to terms with my fate and see where this goes.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, love.”

“You too, Draco. And try and be happy? Try and give her a legitimate chance to be what you need?”

“I can try.”

“Take care, Draco.”

“You too, Tori.”

With a final wave of his wand, the floo closed and he fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling despondently—feeling his heart constricting inside his chest. 

He hadn’t wanted to end it...

...he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Astoria, but he knew she deserved so much better than that from him. And he wanted her to be happy. 

Rolling over, he slowly willed himself to his feet and decided to take a shower to clear his thoughts. He needed to figure out what his next move was going to be. 


	9. Taking a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione spend a day alone together and things heat up for the duo, when an unexpected visitor arrives.

Several days had passed since the _Daily Prophet_ article had come out. When Ron had seen it, he’d gone off on his best mate, who’d just stood up from the breakfast table—told Ron he was being an insensitive git, and left the Burrow. 

He hadn’t returned. 

Ginny, as usual, had that knowing look in her eyes but to her credit, she didn’t say anything. 

Even George seemed amused. 

Harry had gone to Grimmauld Place and had taken over his old room, Kreacher bringing him food when he needed it but for the most part—left him alone with his thoughts. 

He’d sent his patronus to Hermione, and told her where he would be staying at for the foreseeable future. She’d floo’d over and they’d spent that evening walking through Muggle London, before grabbing some takeaway. 

Today, he was going back to France to spend the afternoon with his best friend. 

So with bag in hand, he called out his destination and found himself back in Hermione’s arms as she hugged him happily. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He grinned, then his eyebrow lifted as he took in her attire for the day. “Don’t you look adorable.”

“This is my riding gear. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“Not exactly. I’ve ridden a broom, thestral, hippogriff and a dragon so I’m sure a horse is going to be no problem.”

“Well, I thought you could ride with me. At least to start with. Then if you feel comfortable enough, we can see about getting you a horse to ride?”

“Sounds like a plan?” He chuckled briefly, before he wondered aloud, “So? Will I need to change into riding gear?”

Hermione winked and brandished her wand, silently transfiguring Harry’s clothes into acceptable riding gear, her eyes alight with appreciation at the way Harry’s riding jodhpurs hugged his toned legs while the paddock boots went to mid calf. She also transfigured his fitted shirt into something a bit more practical for riding, which was more than flattering. 

“You look _good_.” Her expression was playful, and he just shook his head. 

“Are you checking me out?”

“Turn around and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

This got a belly laugh from her best friend, but he did as instructed and when he made the full circle, he noticed Hermione biting her lip hard, while her eyes had darkened noticeably. 

She was _definitely_ affected. 

“So do I pass muster?”

“You’ll do.”

Harry grabbed her and pulled her into his body, leaning down to inhale her scented shampoo—a soft vanilla and coconut smell that he adored. Humming in pleasure, he gently nipped her ear before pulling back and smirking when he noticed her cheeks aflame with color. 

He’d never imagined in his wildest dreams that he could get such a reaction from his best friend, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“So riding?” He asked, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly. 

“Hmm? Oh...yes! Riding!”

She stood back and offered her hand, which he took and together, they made their way to the horse stables where Zephyr was saddled and ready to go. 

The large, black Friesian cantered happily at seeing his rider, and Harry’s eyes widened at the size of the horse. His sleek dark coat glistening in the morning sunshine. 

“He’s beautiful.”

Zephyr hoofed the ground with his right leg, his large head moving up and down—looking as if he agreed with Harry’s assessment—causing them both to laugh. 

“Does he understand?” He asked curiously, and Hermione shrugged, pulling out a red apple from her beaded bag and handing it to Zephyr, who munched on it happily. 

“Probably. He’s _very_ smart. I’ve told him you’ll be riding with me and he usually doesn’t allow any one other than me to ride him.”

“Will he be upset?”

“No, just hold onto me and we will take it slow.”

Harry watched in bemusement as Hermione put her foot in the stirrup and vaulted herself effortlessly over the saddle, immediately sitting in a proper position for riding. He then walked over and took Hermione’s hand, as he tried a few times to push himself up—finally succeeding on the fourth try. Once he was settled behind his best friend, he couldn’t help but notice how close together they were. He was literally pushed up against Hermione’s backside, and she was about as forward on the saddle’s rise without going over. 

“Okay, Harry,” Hermione began a bit breathily, clearly as affected by their close proximity as he was, “you can hold one arm around my waist and another on my hip.”

Following her directions, he almost groaned at the feel of Hermione pressed up against him and he had to physically think of Umbridge to stop his body from reacting and outing him. 

“Okay, like this?”

“Yes.” Her voice was now very husky and he couldn’t help but grin—thanking the deities that Hermione couldn’t see his face blushing probably redder than Ron’s hair, right about now. 

Taking the reins in hand, Hermione led Zephyr out of the stable paddock and down towards the path that led through the cedar trees and down to the lake. She kept his cantering in a slow and steady trot, feeling Harry’s hand tighten on her hip every so often as their bodies moved together sinuously. At first she’d thought this was going to be a good idea, but as they continued to move down the pathway, Harry’s body—which felt incredible, pushed against hers—and was causing her core to push against the saddle’s rise in a very pleasurable way. She was desperately trying to keep her breathing under control, but based on his own deep breaths, she could tell Harry was just as affected as she was. 

She slowed down Zephyr’s gait even more, but that only served to cause Harry’s hips to grind into her backside harder and she gasped when she felt the outline of his arousal jutting up against her arse. 

His deep chuckle into her ear didn’t help matters either. 

“If I didn’t know you better, Hermione—I’d think you were purposely teasing me.”

“Harry, I would never do such a thing.”

His rumbling body let her know he didn’t believe her as his hand, that had been wrapped around her waist reached for the horn on the western saddle she’d chosen for the ride—her English saddle too small for two riders—and ground himself into her more firmly while simultaneously pushing her into the saddle rise and hitting her clit perfectly.

The moan that she let loose couldn’t be helped and being a somewhat quick study—he did it again but this time he nudged her braid out of his way and nibbled on her neck gently, his breathing becoming increasing labored as the natural rhythm of the horse’s movement aided his intentions. 

“ _Bloody hell,_ Hermione...” he whispered desperately, his erection now straining as he continued the push and pull of Hermione’s arse against him while simultaneously working her against the saddle—her tiny hitched mewls doing nothing to stop his mind from racing. 

“Harry...”

“Yeah...”

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, love.” He groaned as he pushed forward again. “Merlin, you feel incredible!”

The lake had started to come into view and just as they made it over the last bridge, Hermione’s orgasm washed over her and she threw her head back on Harry’s shoulder as he shuddered—his own release following hers. 

When Zephyr stopped in his usual spot, the two were panting like a couple of randy teenagers, until he took out his wand and waved it over both of them, casting cleansing and refreshing charms in succession. He then carefully dismounted, before helping a blushing Hermione down, watching as she walked over under a huge tree and pulled out a blanket and some apples from her beaded bag before gesturing for him to sit down with her, which he did. 

He laid propped up against the tree and wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulder, pulling her into his embrace as he kissed the top of her head gently. 

“So?”

“So?”

“You’re a _wicked_ witch. Who knew you had it in you.”

Her giggles filled his heart with happiness as they cuddled together, watching the breeze swaying through the trees and on the water. 

“It’s beautiful here.” He admitted with a sigh. “I would imagine growing up here was a bit like a fairytale.”

“Some of it.” She replied, tilting her head up so her chin rested on Harry’s chest. She took her hand and smoothed out his crazy hair and grinned. “But it was a lonely childhood, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My parents didn’t really allow other children to come and play. Then I lost my mom before school started and when I got to Hogwarts, well...it was hard to turn off that part of me. You remember?”

Harry hummed, not liking to remember how unkind he and Ron were to Hermione the first couple months of their shared first year. She had been brash, and bossy—but it totally made sense now looking back on it. He was fairly shy, but had made friends easily because of his name and fame. Hermione hadn’t been able to use her name—but she couldn’t change whom she fundamentally was deep down. 

“Did I ever say sorry for not defending you to Ron first year?”

Nuzzling her faze into Harry’s chest, she just sighed. “There’s no need. We can’t change the past, Harry. And I wouldn’t, just for the record.”

He gazed down into bright cinnamon eyes that were staring up at him with such openness and trust, and he felt his heart constrict. 

“How are we going to do this, Hermione?”

“You mean?”

He nodded. 

“I’d very much like to kiss you. Is that even allowed?”

Her soft sigh was filled with so many emotions, he wasn’t sure he could name them all adequately.

“My Father believes that the old contract was based on the customs of the time. No vaginal penetration. So kissing is probably fine. What we did just now was fine. So I suppose...”

“We could experiment?”

Her smile was now wicked as she nodded, so he didn’t waste any time changing positions rolling her underneath him. He stared down into Hermione’s face and wondered how many times while they were on the run that he’d imagined kissing her. 

Definitely the night they’d danced alone in the tent after Ron had abandoned them. 

He cocked his head when he saw her hand come up towards his face, and then she gently removed his glasses and set them down next to her, before her hand moved back and cupped his cheek softly and that was all the invitation he needed as he lowered his lips to hers.

The minute their lips connected, everything for him came into sharp relief and he felt his body shudder as he gripped Hermione’s head with his right hand whilst his left instinctively grasped her hip and held her tightly against him as he coaxed her lips with his own. 

When he felt her tongue move out experimentally, he answered the silent plea with his, and then they were full-on snogging in earnest. 

He didn’t know if oxygen was a requirement, as he was feeling rather light-headed but when he finally pulled back and stared into Hermione’s face that was flushed, and her lips swollen and red—he hummed in satisfaction before repeating the process all over again. 

They stayed like that for a while, and when he broke their final kiss, Harry grinned down at Hermione, who was smiling up widely at him. 

“Wow.” She whispered out in awe. 

“Wow, indeed.”

She sighed and then looked over his shoulder at the lake, that was silently beckoning them both.

“Care for a swim to cool off?”

“Actually, that sounds rather perfect,” He admitted sheepishly, “but I don’t have swim trunks.”

Hermione giggled as she reached for her beaded bag and pulled out a pair of trunks in his size. He looked at her with a quirked smile but grabbed them, and went to go put them on behind the large tree to the right. She reached for her bikini, and did the same on the other side. 

The lake had a small dock where a canoe was tied up to it. There was a wooden raft in the middle that you could swim out to. Harry heard Hermione giggling madly as he caught a glimpse of her hair flying behind her, before she ran for the dock and launched herself cannonball style into the water.

He laughed, and followed her—jumping off the dock and splashing spectacularly, dousing her with water just as she’d come up for air. 

They took turns dunking each other, swimming to the raft and diving off of it—enjoying their afternoon of frolicking and frivolity.

When they finally made their way to the raft, Harry gasped as he finally noticed that Hermione’s scar on her throat and the _mudblood_ scar on her arm were nearly faded. 

“How?” He asked quietly, as he traced the faint letters on her arm. 

“Family secret. It got rid of the scar that Dolohov left me with after the Department of Mysteries too. You can’t really see it unless you look closely.”

Harry _accio’d_ his glasses off the deck and leant forward, and sure enough, the light glistened off a very faint thin white scar that followed from Hermione’s shoulder down between her breasts almost diagonally to her opposite hip. He traced the scar with his finger, all the while his brow was furrowed in thought. 

“ _Don’t_ , Harry.”

Pained green eyes lifted to stare into hers. 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t blame yourself. My scars are not your fault.”

“Hermione...”

“No!” His lips lifted slightly at his best friends swotty no-nonsense tone. “I have no regrets, Harry. I did what I needed to do and I’d do it all over again if it meant us being right here, right now—together.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

He leant down and kissed her sweetly, almost reverently for a brief moment before lifting his head up and smiling in gratitude.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve having you in my life, Hermione.”

“Harry James Potter! You are the bravest wizard I have ever known. If anyone deserves the best things in life, it is you.”

“So do you, Hermione.”

The two of them just stared into each other eyes for a few more moments before mutually deciding to take another dip in the lake. They swam for a bit longer, and then Hermione _accio’d_ her beaded bag and grabbed a few provision for an afternoon picnic. 

There were some cheese, apples, crisps and a couple bottles of water. 

Once they were done with lunch and taking another foray into swimming, they both decided to relax on the dock. By this time, it was well past lunch and nearing dinner, when Harry heard the crack of apparition in the distance. 

Lifting his head up from the blanket where he’d been snuggling with Hermione and sunbathing—he cleared his throat to get her attention, and pulled her up with him into a more dignified position—thankfully just in time, as her Father came walking down the path and into view. 

But he wasn’t alone. 

His eyes narrowed as he noticed the wizard next to Pierre. 

_What the fuck was Malfoy doing here?_


	10. Surprises All Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco arrives at Hermione’s home unexpectedly and receives a surprise of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments have been lovely! Thank you to all who’ve taken the time to read, review or leave a kudo!

Draco hadn't known exactly how he'd be received at _Ville Fleur Etiolle_ , but had been pleasantly surprised when Hermione's Father had allowed his request to floo over to speak with her. When he arrived in the receiving room, the Grand Duke was waiting for him with a curious expression on his face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

The older wizard's sharp gaze under normal circumstances, might've left Draco feeling a bit on edge, but he'd lived with the Dark Lord in his home for well over a year—so as fearsome as Pierre Alphonse was, he was no Dark Lord.

"I wished to speak with Hermione, if she's home."

"She is. She's gone riding for the day, and is probably at the lake as we speak."

Draco nodded slowly. "I probably should've sent her an owl, but..."

"You didn't want to lose your nerve once you’d decided to make the attempt?"

Draco's eyes lifted in surprise at the very accurate assessment.

"Something along those lines."

The Grand Duke just considered the young wizard for a moment, as he tried to take his measure of the man standing before him. He was clearly a Malfoy, and looks aside—he held himself with the same stance of aggrieved disdain that Lucius did. He was slightly shorter and slimmer than his Father, but he supposed that living with Tom Riddle didn't inspire much of anything...including an appetite for life.

"I will escort you to the lake."

"Thank you, Sir."

Pierre offered his hand, which Draco took and with a _crack_...they were gone from the main house and instantly reappeared along the far side of a bridge, that was nestled in a grove of cedar trees.

Glancing around, Draco took in the expansive scenery with an appreciative eye.

"It's quite lovely here."

"Thank you." Pierre gestured for Draco to walk with him across the bridge, which he did. "The grounds have been in my family for seven centuries. It once expanded over 200 acres of land, but after the revolution, and Napoleon's swath through France—much of the lands were retaken as payment."

"For what?"

"Ah well, that's a story for another time." Pierre replied cryptically, and Draco couldn't help but be intrigued, but then the lake came into view and his breath caught at the majesty of the clear blue water. Then his eye caught on movement to his right and when he looked over...he saw Potter and Hermione sitting up on some kind of dock—clearly enjoying the summer day together.

His eyes narrowed at Potter, so he missed Pierre's smug smirk—but then he took in Granger and his heart stuttered in shock.

_What the fuck was she wearing!_

And who _knew_ the swot looked like _that_ under her baggy school robes!

His grey eyes narrowed even further as Potter stood up, his physique proudly on display, holding out a hand for Granger, and she took it with a wide smile of thanks.

"Angel," Pierre called out, "it would seem you have company."

"Thank you, Papa."

Pierre gave one final nod to the Malfoy lad, and disapparated with a _crack_ , leaving Draco standing there watching the scene before him with a mixture of anger and frustration. Well, that and something else he didn't want to name as of yet. He watched Granger saunter towards him, with Potter right behind her, but was momentarily distracted when he heard a horse chuffing behind him and when he turned around—he saw a beautiful large black Friesian stallion staring at him.

He smiled widely and put both of his hands up in the universal sign of peace, before slowly approaching the animal, it's dark eyes considering him closely.

"Hey, boy. Aren't you just a _beautiful_ one."

His voice was gentle, and soothing as he calmly approached the stallion, who's snout shifted up and down—almost as if he was nodding and agreeing with Draco's assessment.

Once he was within arms reach, he held out his hand in offering—waiting to see what the horse would do. Eventually, the Friesian cantered side to side for a brief moment, then nudged its snout into Draco's hand and allowed his attentions.

Hermione was watching the entire scene before her with wide, shocked eyes.

Zephyr _never_ allowed any stranger to approach him and never, _ever_ allowed another to pet him unless she allowed it. He normally was such a good judge of character that she found herself wondering what Zephyr sensed, that she had clearly missed, in all her interactions with Malfoy.

Once they were within range, Zephyr lifted his head and trotted over to her, nudging her playfully and begging for some attention.

"Hey, boy." She took out a red apple from her beaded bag and handed it over, watching with a smile as Zephyr munched on it happily. She then turned her attention back to the ferret.

" _Why_ are you here, Malfoy?"

Draco shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable and replied lowly, "I'd thought we'd agreed on using first names."

She blushed slightly, but nodded in turn. "Sorry, yes..we did at that."

Draco's gaze then landed on the wizard right behind Hermione, and he sneered out, "Potter."

"Malfoy."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here?"

"No, you really _shouldn't_ be."

It was taking all of Draco's Occlumency training to not react to the fucking Chosen One.

"I'm sorry to come by unannounced, but I was hoping we might talk privately, Hermione."

The witch just tilted her head slightly as she stared him down, before sighing in resignation. Turning back to Potter, she shrugged and said simply, "Raincheck?"

The git grinned and winked before placing a kiss on her cheek, which made Draco's blood boil.

"Sure thing, love."

Clenching his fists, Draco was fairly certain if Potter didn't leave soon, he'd go full on Muggle and hit the git's _smarmy_ face.

Hermione watched as Harry walked behind the tree, after she'd transfigured his clothes back to what he'd been originally wearing earlier, and when he came back, he petted Zephyr fondly and said smugly, "Much thanks for the _spectacular_ ride, boy. _Best of my life so far."_

Draco watched in confusion as Hermione blushed and bit her lip, trying very hard not to smile at Potter, who was grinning at her from ear to ear. He knew there was something he was missing, but in Merlin's name, he couldn't figure out just _what_ that something was.

Potter walked right past him and leant down to whisper something in Hermione's ear. The witch nodded and kissed his cheek back, promising to see him soon.

Watching Potter disapparate through the wards of the property, made Draco _seethe_ angrily. If the wards had accepted him already, then Pierre _knew_ of Hermione's possible choice of consort and had already _accepted_ the option.

"So you and Potter?"

Amber eyes locked onto his and he watched as Hermione smirked and replied, "So, you and Astoria?"

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "No. I spoke with her and told her that I wouldn't disrespect her by bringing her into this. She deserves a wizard who can offer her what she deserves, and unfortunately that wizard _isn't_ me."

Hermione took a step back in shock, staring at Draco as if she'd never quite seen him properly before.

"You're serious?"

"Don't act all surprised, Hermione. I _am_ capable of doing the decent thing."

"Since when?"

"I don't know? Since not identifying Potter in my home, even though I _knew_ it was him. Did you really think I'd wanted that madman to win?"

"I don't know, Malfoy? If you didn't, you surely _played_ it like you did. Hateful, prejudiced, prat you were—it's hard for me to reconcile that you might actually have a heart. But then Astoria is a proper Pureblood witch, so I suppose I can see it."

Lifting his face to the sky, he pleaded with any deity who might take pity on him to give him strength right now. He couldn't afford to bollocks this up anymore than he'd already had.

"Yes, Hermione, you're right. I was and currently _am_ , a selfish git. I've made horrible choices. Many of which were made out of desperation for my Mother's safety. I'm sure you can appreciate that sentiment? Does it excuse all the hateful things I've spewed at you for six years, no. But to be fair, you weren't exactly honest with your heritage either, now were you? You _lied_ to your friends, and maybe you've convinced yourself it was all for the greater good, but it doesn't change the facts."

"No, it doesn't." She admitted with a sad sigh. "It was my _Father's_ decision and it was either hide in plain sight or be schooled at home. I've spent my entire life behind these walls, with no one other than my family and servants for company, so excuse me if I was _desperate_ for a different life, Malfoy!"

Eyes widening, he hadn't considered for a single moment what life must've been like for Granger growing up. He'd always been privileged, but his parents had allowed him the company of his same-aged peers growing up. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Theo—even Daphne and Tori, when she was old enough.

He remembered how socially awkward Granger had been their first year, especially early on. He clearly remembered her haughty voice on the train when she was looking for Neville's toad. For months, after he'd realized what he'd thought was her heritage—he simply couldn't reconcile the witch's actions with her background.

_Now he knew why._

"You know," he gently cleared his throat before a small smirk fell over his face, "not that you don't look _fetching_ in that ensemble you're wearing...but perhaps you might want to get dressed before we have this conversation properly?"

"Why, Malfoy... _sorry_...Draco? Does a little skin bother your overblown Pureblood sensibilities?"

"You're a Pureblood too, Hermione. And not exactly, no. If I'm being entirely honest, your appearance took me a bit by surprise. I've been so used to you wearing over-sized robes at school, I had no idea you were hiding such a shapely figure underneath all those clothes."

She chuckled softly, as she shook her head in disbelief.

_Was Malfoy actually paying her a genuine compliment?_

Based on his expression as his grey eyes roved over her form, she had to believe he was.

"You've never looked at me as anything other than the filth on your shoe—so I'm not surprised you didn't notice that I was a girl."

He shrugged helplessly, as he didn't see a point in defending his actions back at school.

_There literally was no defense for his behavior._

"Don't suppose an apology would suffice?"

"No, I don't think an apology would work in this situation."

"Then what would?" He inquired evenly. "Are we to _resign_ ourselves to a loveless marriage and separate lives already?"

Shaking her head even more, she went to move behind Zephyr to get changed when Malfoy's hand on her arm stopped her cold. She glanced at him in confusion, but his gaze was fixated on where her _mudblood_ scar was...or more to the point—where it was now almost faded away.

"How?" His grey eyes bored into hers with something akin to wonder tinged with a side of bafflement.

"It's a family treatment."

"But this was...I mean...Hermione? She cursed you with Dark Magic."

"I'm well aware, Draco. Look, let me get changed and we can discuss it a bit more, okay?"

He nodded and then watched as Hermione walked around to the other side of her horse and his eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock at her lack of modesty, as she removed her swimsuit and started to dress more appropriately. He could see her legs from mid thigh down and the tops of her shoulders clearly. Once her riding gear was on, he saw her stuff her bikini away in her bag as she made her way back towards the him with an amused half-grin.

"So, your first question was a fair one, and honestly it's one I don't have an answer for yet." She said at last. "I suppose I'd be willing to listen to any suggestions you might have on how you and I could possibly move forward from our volatile past."

The truth if he was honest—was that he really didn't know either and as he said as much, he watched Granger's expression fall, before she nodded resolutely.

"Then why did you come here today?"

"I don't know exactly." He paused again, watching Hermione taking her horse by his reins and then she started to walk back down the path, likely heading towards the Ville. "What's his name?"

"What?"

He smirked at her gobsmacked expression, so he pointed to her horse and said simply, "What's his name?"

"Oh! His name is Zephyr."

"The Greek God of the western winds?"

"Yes." She smiled genuinely and he nodded.

"It fits him."

"I thought so too."

"How old were you got him?"

"Nine. He was the last gift from my Mother, before she was killed."

"Oh." Draco's face fell. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, but it's something I learned to deal with a long time ago."

"Her name was Angelique? Yes?"

"It was. My full name is Hermione Angelique Jean Granger Alphonse. My Mother was a Dagworth-Granger."

"Hence the Granger." He bit back, and she could see his lips curving upward, and her expression softened. "But I'm confused about something?"

"Which is?"

"I remember back before our second year meeting...well not exactly meeting, but I do remember _seeing_ whom I thought were your parents in Flourish and Blotts talking with Arthur Weasley."

"Yes, I remember that day well." Her lifted eyebrow and slight scowl had him grimacing slightly, but all she replied with was, "Wendell and Monica Granger. Wendell, is my Mother's cousin. A squib. I had grown up knowing them, and they were like second parents to me. I did get to spend time with them on occasion. It was during one of those visits in London that my magic expressed. It was apparently, how Dumbledore found out about me. My name appeared on the Hogwarts registry since my magic expressed in Britain. At my Mother's funeral, Wendell came and it wasn't long after that, that the decision was made to allow me to go to Hogwarts. I modified Wendell and Monica's memories before I went with Harry and disappeared. The Ministry is trying to locate them, as we speak."

"What?" He gaped out in shock. "Where did you send them?"

"Australia."

"You did this without their permission?"

" _Of course not!_ They knew the war was coming. After what happened at the end of our fifth year, I couldn't keep it from them and my Father and I...well, let's just say we didn't see eye to eye that entire summer. He almost didn't let me return to school, but since I was turning seventeen that September of our sixth year? He capitulated— _reluctantly_."

"Did you blackmail him like you did with Skeeter?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks and stared Draco down, her expression livid.

" _Excuse me?"_

He blanched, realizing that maybe he shouldn't have brought that up.

"You didn't blackmail Skeeter?" He drawled, as he desperately tried to back track, but the look on Hermione's face had him wondering if he'd gone a step too far.

"Are you always going to be this much of a _pain in the arse?"_ She bit out caustically. "Because I won't attempt to be open with you again, if that's going to be the case!"

He watched in dismay as Hermione went to mount Zephyr, and he desperately grabbed her arm quickly, silently pleading for her to not leave him.

"I'm _sorry_." He grit out with an exasperated shake of his head. "My Mother shared a few things with me recently, and I guess I'm still processing it all."

She just stared at him like he was some kind of novelty she wasn't sure she wanted to figure out, but all she said was, "That sounds rather _ominous_."

He chuckled, but he was glad to see Granger moving back in step with him as they continued on their path towards the stables.

"Mother is more observant than anyone I know, but that being said—she's a terrible gossip. She doesn't share the information she learns easily, but felt I needed to be educated about a few things where you were concerned."

"Such as?"

So he told her, about Skeeter and Snape—and how his Mother had warned him of Hermione's Slytherin side. When he was done, Granger was grinning like mad.

"I don't know whether to be offended or impressed."

"Maybe a bit of both?"

She nodded, biting her lip in contemplation as she side-eyed him warily. "How are we ever going to find common ground?"

He lifted his head back slightly, as he gazed up into the fading light of the afternoon and shrugged.

"Maybe we start with something simple. Something we both have an interest in?"

"Like?"

"Well," he paused, wondering if what he was about to propose was a good idea, but it probably wouldn't hurt and the worst Granger could do was say no. "I'm rather interested in Alchemy as well. I've done some of my own research on it...nothing major but..."

"Really?"

He watched with satisfaction as Hermione's eyes sparkled with interest, and he was suddenly aware of how pretty she looked with her face all eager for new information.

It was something he'd never allowed himself to notice before.

"Yes."

"Anything in particular."

"Well, I've done some research on the panchrest."

Amber eyes widened even further, and pink lips formed a breathy ' _oh_ ' and he felt his heart race slightly at the enraptured expression.

"It's just an academic interest at this point."

"I'm surprised is all."

"Why? I've always been just a few points behind you in our classes?"

"I know, and it's not about that per say—it's just, that's what I'll be working on, in a roundabout way."

"A panchrest?"

"The Elixir of Life."

He stopped dead in his tracks, and he knew his face must've look completely befuddled because she was grinning openly at him.

"The Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Yes." She replied after a moment. "In order to create a _true_ panchrest, you must first start with the Elixir. It's my theory anyway, and I believe it's the foundational recipe for the panacea."

Shaking his head in wonder, he gave the little witch next to him an impressed look.

"You always were smarter than anyone I knew, Granger."

"Hermione... _Draco_ —and I'll take that as a compliment." They'd finally reached the stables and Draco sat down on a bench and watched silently as Hermione thoroughly brushed Zephyr, gave him another apple and then invited him into her home. "I picked up some light reading material from Master Flamel in Paris. If you're really interested, you could come and help with my research?"

"Really?" He desperately tried to keep his voice from cracking with excitement, and realized that he'd failed miserably. He cleared his throat a couple times, before inquiring more sedately, "You wouldn't mind the help?"

"No, I suppose not." But then she pointed her finger at him in warning. "But don't even _think_ about taking credit for my work, Draco Malfoy!"

Placing his hand over his heart, he replied in his most conciliatory tone, "I wouldn't dream of it, Hermione."

"Good." She nodded with a finality that made him smirk at how adorably swotty she could be. It was definitely a trait he hadn't appreciated in school, but now could admit even a little bit to himself—that he found it rather appealing.

In a strange, unexplainable way...

"So I can come by tomorrow?" He queried, more smoothly than he felt.

She gazed up at him for a brief moment and then nodded. "How about ten in the morning?"

"I'll be here."

She led him to the floo room, and before he left—he took her hand and bowed over it before placing the softest of kisses on her knuckles. Her responding hitched breath and rising blush gave him a measure of confidence that perhaps Granger wasn't wholly indifferent to him.

But that didn't alleviate the pit in his stomach when he thought about Potter and his dynamic with his soon to be wife.

He just didn't know what to do about it at this juncture.


	11. Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries to make an effort while Hermione and Harry have a shared moment together.

For the next few days, Draco had willingly gone to _Ville Fleur Etoille_ to spend time researching and reading with Hermione and he had to admit, the witch was utterly brilliant. He’d always known how intelligent she was, but he’d lamented that fact during school, that it was solely due to her _swotty_ nature and not acknowledging how genuinely she loved to learn. 

Her passion for learning was voracious and frankly...

 _Arousing_. 

She’d asked him questions, sought out his opinion and encouraged his ideas on different topics that they had read through. At one point, Pierre had entered the library, seen the amount of books, parchment and research paraphernalia scattered all over the tables—turned around the left with a pleased grin on his face. 

The fourth day in succession that he had planned to visit, he’d been unpleasantly surprised when he’d arrived and Hermione wasn’t in her normal place in the library. 

Jean Paul had informed him that Hermione had left the evening prior after dinner, and had not returned home. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“I believe she’s in London, Sir. Visiting Mr. Potter.”

He nodded stiltedly, and made his way back through the floo with a frown marring his face. 

Hermione hadn’t mentioned she was planning on visiting Potter, and it wasn’t like they hadn’t been spending the past few days in each other’s company, but it made him wonder what was going on. 

He went upstairs to his bedroom and grabbed a quill and some parchment, intending to write a letter to his soon to be wife, when he paused mid sentence. Setting his quill down, he concluded that Hermione wasn’t the kind of witch who would take to him demanding where she was at, and why she was with Potter. 

Walking over to his bed, he plopped down on it unceremoniously and stared at his ceiling—trying to process just what he was feeling. It wasn’t jealousy. Not _really_...

Was it possessiveness?

“No, that’s not it.” He mumbled to himself. 

Several minutes passed, as he desperately tried to put a name on the foreign feeling he was experiencing—when it suddenly came to him...

He felt _disappointed_. 

Over the last few days, he’d come to actually enjoy spending time with Hermione, and he’d believed a bit arrogantly, that she’d felt the same. 

Did they have definitive plans for today— _no_...but he’d assumed she’d be home and they could continue their research together. 

But obviously, Potter was more important. 

Rubbing his hands down his face, he couldn’t help the sense of frustration he was feeling. He and Potter had always been rivals, but the truth was far more complex. All his life, he’d been raised to believe he was the best. That Malfoy’s were the best: the smartest, most cunning, richest, best looking, most pure...

And then he’d gotten to Hogwarts and realized that no one outside of his own immediate circle of Slytherins, viewed him as the best of anything. 

No...that title belonged to Saint Potter and Granger. 

_Hermione_...

As a young boy of eleven, twelve and thirteen...it was easy to turn those feelings of jealousy and rage into hate, but as an adult? 

He was having a harder time justifying that kind of vitriol—even as it left him feeling so bereft. 

The fact that he hadn’t once thought about Tori in the past several days didn’t help his state of mind at all, and not for the first time he had to wonder if he was even capable of love...

_Real love..._

Sighing heavily, he sat up and decided that he wouldn’t visit Hermione again until she requested it. He had no doubt that Jean Paul would let her know he’d stopped by today, so the next move was solely on her. 

He wouldn’t look like some poor sad sack desperate for her time nor attention. 

As he changed out of his dress robes and into his flying gear, he figured an afternoon outdoors might serve to brighten his spirits. 

Back at _Ville Fleur Etiolle_ , Hermione and Harry were just leaving the floo room, when Jean Paul stopped her. 

“Miss Hermione, you had a guest about an hour ago.”

“Who? I don’t think I was expecting anyone.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh! I see. Thank you, Jean Paul.”

“Of course, Miss. Enjoy your day.”

Hermione watched her Father’s manservant leave with a weighted sense of dread. She hadn’t known Malfoy was going to come over today. Yes, they’d been researching the last few days, but she was fairly certain she’d made overtures to invite him for each subsequent day to work on her research. 

_Or had he just assumed?_

“You okay?” Harry inquired gently. 

“Uhm, yeah. I just wasn’t aware that I had invited Malfoy over today.”

“Maybe it was implied?”

“No, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t.” She sighed, as she took Harry’s arm in hers. “I’ll send him an owl later and see what happened.”

“You did mention that the past few days you’ve been sort of getting along?”

“We have a common interest, so I’m trying to focus on that and not our contentious past. It’s been a bit easier than I’d thought it’d be, but it’s still hard for me to reconcile that my childhood tormentor is going to be my husband, in a little over a years time.”

Harry nodded, but didn’t immediately reply as he followed Hermione up to her bedroom. They’d been spending the last day cleaning out Grimmauld Place, making it a bit more habitable. The elf heads had come down, as had Walburga’s portrait... _finally_. What they couldn’t do with magic, Hermione had suggested taking the wall down the Muggle way. After six hours of demolition, and a screaming portrait that he’d barricaded in the attic with a permanent silencing charm for good measure...his current home was now Walburga Black _free_. 

Kreacher hadn’t been upset, which was a surprise, under the circumstances. But perhaps that had something to do with him outing Hermione’s heritage. The elf had been fawning over her all night long, and well into the morning. 

“I can’t believe we spent all night destroying that wall!” Hermione giggled. “I never thought she’d stop screeching!”

He chuckled and said, “Her face was rather funny when she’d discovered just whom you were. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old bat at a loss for words.”

They both bent over in loud guffaws as they made their way into her bedroom. Closing her door, she went to her closet to grab some clean clothes and was about to head to her en suite when she felt Harry slide up behind her, his arms caged around her waist. 

“So? I’ve been _thinking?”_

“Oh?” Her grin was playful, as she gazed over her shoulder at her best friend, his green eyes now alight with mischief. 

“Yeah. I’d like to try something, if you’re feeling up to it?”

“I’m sure I would be open to most anything, Mr. Potter.”

“Good.” He smiled into her neck, before biting it softly and relishing in her breathy moans. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

“You already took a shower before we got here, Harry.”

“So I did, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you. After all, I got you all dirty.”

She stifled her giggles by biting her lip, but nodded and allowed him to usher her into her ensuite, all the while discarding their clothes, until they were standing together in her shower, under the warm water. 

She watched in bemusement, as Harry lathered up a flannel and took his time washing her carefully from head to toe. It was both sweet and erotic—especially when he washed her hair and then spent his time conditioning it too. Her gentle sighs of pleasure were clearly affecting Harry, because he was already rock hard. 

Once he was done, he gently turned her towards the shower wall, that had several water jets on the side wall and then she felt him move himself against her backside, his erection nestled between her arse cheeks. He carefully reached around her body and cupped her breasts, all the while kissing her neck and nibbling on her earlobe. She couldn’t help but squirm and pant at how good Harry felt against her like this. When he pinched her left nipple hard, she threw her head back and moaned out his name wantonly. He then turned her around and replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking and biting on her breasts, before he slowly kneeled in front of her. 

Looking down into blistering emerald green eyes, he smirked up at her wickedly before taking her left leg and placing it over his right shoulder, opening her up to his hungry gaze. 

“So, no penetration, right?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” his chest rumbled as he took his thumbs and gently spread her lower lips that were shaved with a dilapidation spell—getting a good look at his prize. “I think, that I can make that work.”

“ _Harry_...”

“Shhh...this is something I’ve been thinking about Hermione—more than you will _ever_ know.”

“ _Really?!”_ Her voice came out huskier than she’d ever heard it, while he just hummed in the affirmative. 

She watched in slow motion, as Harry moved forward towards her core, which she knew was probably obscenely wet by now...but what he did next nearly had her legs buckling in shock because he pushed his nose into her quim and inhaled deeply...his chest rumbling with pleasure as he groaned in satisfaction. 

“I fucking _knew_ you’d smell like heaven.” He growled out deeply, causing her to whimper and then the tip of his tongue reached out tentatively flicking her clit. She gripped onto the back of Harry’s head, gasping out as her stomach coiled inwards in anticipation. His green eyes then lifted and locked with hers, and then there was nothing else but pleasure, as Harry used his talented tongue and lips and plied her clit with licks, kisses and sucking...her needy moans filling the shower...her body bowed over him...their gazes never breaking once. 

That damnable coil in her tummy, that had been edging the fire in her nether regions, all snapped simultaneously as her back arched, her orgasm washing over her—moaning out Harry’s name in ecstasy. When she finally looked back down after a few moments of desperately trying to catch her breath, Harry was sitting back on his haunches, grinning up at her like a fool, his face covered in her essence. 

“Wow!” She whispered, and then she knelt down and kissed him senseless, licking and sucking herself off his chin, lips and tongue and loving his answering deep groans. He pulled her down to the shower floor and they lost themselves for a bit, as they snogged each other silly. 

After a few more moments, she allowed her hand to wander down Harry’s chest and reached for his erection, which wasn’t quite as hard as she half expected it to be and he pulled back, grinning down at her sheepishly. 

“Sorry, love, but watching you come undone...well...”

“Really?” She looked down again and noticed Harry’s cock twitching, and she hummed. “Looks like he’s ready to go again.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed, but all he said afterwards was—“How about we save that for another time?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

She smacked his chest, but they were both snickering before she sputtered out, “Simply _incorrigible_.”

“Sure, love.” He sighed, then helped her up, and together they dried off and got dressed before walking outside onto Hermione’s balcony...laying down on the large chaise lounge and snuggling together. 

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

She rolled into his body and lifted her head to she could see his expression. “Can I ask a question?”

“ _Anything_ , Hermione—you know that.”

“What happened with you and Ginny?”

He didn’t answer right away but when he did, she could hear the clear resignation in his voice. 

“After the battle, when I’d realized you’d disappeared? I went a _little_ mad.”

“What?” She whispered, while Harry just nodded, placing a finger against her lips to silence her so he could finish his story. 

“Yeah. I was the one to notice you weren’t in the Great Hall, and I literally tore out of the castle screaming your name. I thought something had happened to you. That’s when I saw Malfoy outside, and I might’ve lost it for a moment. Grabbed him by the throat with my wand in his face, demanding to know what he’d done with you.”

“Oh, _Harry!”_

“I know, it wasn’t well done of me but after what happened to you at Malfoy Manor...well...it made me face a few things I’d been unwilling to admit to.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He murmured again. “When you offered to go with me out to the Forbidden Forest, I realized in that moment what a fool I’d been. But there was still Ron, and I figured it didn’t matter at that point. I’d be dead and he’d take care of you. Later, after leaving Hogwarts and heading back to the Burrow, Ginny confronted me. She’d seen my altercation with Malfoy and called me out on it. Straight up asked me if we had...well, you know, during our time in the run. I told her _no,_ and surprisingly—she believed me. She then asked if I had feelings for you, and I couldn’t deny it. I wasn’t going to lie to her, not about that. She told me I was an idiot, and I agreed. Told her I cared for her, but marriage and family weren’t in the cards for me— _ever_.”

“I don’t imagine she took that well.”

“Not exactly. She’d said I was suffering from trauma and that I’d change my mind someday, and then mentioned that it wasn’t fair of me to expect anyone to go into a relationship not wanting those things...including you.”

“She didn’t?!”

“Yes, she did. She left, and the next day your heritage came to light in the Prophet. Ron was livid—spewing out his frustration on anyone who’d listen. When he wrote that Howler, Molly smacked him for his stupidity...”

She giggled softly and admitted, “I’d wondered who that was.”

“Molly warned him he’d regret sending the blasted thing...but Ron is stubborn and didn’t listen.”

“I never did ask you directly how you’d felt about it all.”

“At first I was hurt, but then the more I thought about it, the more things started to make sense? I think the biggest one was how you could’ve left, whom I thought were your parents, and obliviated them without being more devastated than you were. When I added up everything—and it took me a couple days to process it all—I concluded that the Hermione I knew, must’ve had a good reason for not telling me. So I figured to wait until I’d heard from you directly, to give you a chance to explain. I never imagined the situation with Malfoy occurring, but if it hadn’t...”

“Would you really not have told me how you felt?”

He rolled her underneath him and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Yes, I _wouldn’t_ have told you. I know it’s selfish of me, but, love...I’m _damaged_. I think I have been for far longer than even I care to admit to. There was a time, I’d wished for a family to call my own, but as the war got really bad and I saw first hand, what being with me would mean for someone...” he glanced down at her arm, and she tried to shake her head in reprimand, but he just held her still. 

“Listen, love...you know me better than _anyone_ and you’ve seen my life up close. So many people have died because of me, and I know you’ll say that they were just fighting for their right to live... _but it’s not that simple._ My parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, Quirrell... _Snape_...” the last one was said with an uncomfortable swallow..”and so many more besides. I meant what I said to your dad, that I will _always_ be a target. At least if I’m an Auror? I can stop anymore of those like Voldemort from rising again. If that means I get these stolen moments with you, I’m okay with that too.”

“Harry, you do know if I have to choose between you and Malfoy, I’m going to _choose you.”_

“I know that, love. And Godric help me, but I’m almost selfish enough to let you do it. However, I want to you to promise me something?”

“Which is?”

“ _When_ you finally decide to give Malfoy a real chance to try and prove his worth to you? You’ll let me know, and I’ll step back willingly. If you, for a single, solitary, moment—think you can have something real with the ferret, I’ll step aside.”

“Harry...don’t say that!”

“Hermione, I’ll _always_ be your best friend. I meant it when I told your Dad that. No matter what choice you make. But until that day comes, _if_ it does...I’m going to enjoy the time we have and if by some stretch of fate you realize that you don’t want, or can’t have the kind of marriage with Malfoy that you desire—I’ll be here to fill that place.”

She gazed up into loving emerald green eyes and wondered not for the first time, how in Godric’s name she hadn’t seen how much pain her best friend had been in. 

_Still was in._

But she knew Harry well enough to know, he’d never talk to anyone other than her about his pain. 

It just wasn’t who he was. 

“I _do_ love you, Harry.”

“I know it, Hermione. I _feel_ it too.”

She smiled and pulled his head down so their lips could meet, and talking ceased for the immediate future as they just spent the next bit of time, snogging each other. 

Later, after Harry had left—she sat down at her desk with a heavy heart staring at the parchment and trying to figure out just what she hoped to gain with this thing with Malfoy. 

_Was Harry right?_

Would she want a real marriage at some point, and if so? 

Would Malfoy _ever_ be capable of giving that to her? 

Once her missive was finally written, she tied it to her owl, Sheba, and watched as she flew off into the night towards Malfoy Manor. 


	12. Independent Verification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco receives a missive from Hermione and seeks out his Mother to assuage his curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late with the posting. Hope you enjoy!

Later that same evening, Draco returned back to his room and was reading when he heard pecking at his window. Wandering over and opening it, he didn't immediately recognize the owl.

"Hello."

The bird hooted and held out its talon, a piece of parchment wrapped in a scroll around its leg. He took the missive and gave the owl a treat, and then watched it fly off into the night, clearly not expecting a reply.

He sat back down and opened the scroll, immediately noticing the sweeping scrawl that was Granger's handwriting.

_**Draco-** _

_**I'm sorry I missed you this morning. I was with Harry last night at Grimmauld Place, doing a bit of redecoration. Actually, we took down all the old severed elves heads and removed Walburga Black's portrait, that had a permanent sticking charm on it. Magic didn't seem to work, so we used Muggle methods and tore down the wall.** _

_**I didn't realize we had plans for today, and I do apologize if I made the mistake and forgot.** _

_**I will be going to Paris tomorrow to pick up some more materials from Master Flamel and if you would like to accompany me, you're more than welcome to.** _

_**I will wait for you at ten. If you aren't here by ten after, I'll take that to mean you have other plans and aren't available. Either way is fine.** _

_**Hermione** _

He reread the note again and sat back with a grimace of disgust.

Mounted severed heads?

How gauche and barbaric!

He set the letter down and went to find his mother, needing some additional information for his own peace of mind. It wasn't as if he didn't believe Granger, but he knew he'd feel better if he could get some verification.

He found his parents in his Father's study, reading.

"Father, Mother..." he greeted his parents amiably, as he sauntered into the room and took his preferred spot next to the window.

"Draco, to what do we owe this honor?" His Father's voice was even, his gaze never leaving his book, while his Mother was watching him with a concerned look in her eye.

"I just wanted to let you both know, that I'll be going to Paris tomorrow."

"Oh?" His Father set his book down, now giving his undivided attention. "And _why_ would you be going to Paris?"

"Hermione invited me to attend her as she visits with Master Flamel. She has some more reading material to acquire from him."

"Is that where you've been these past few days?" His Mother queried, and he nodded.

"She is allowing me to aid in her research. I don't know where she's finding time to study for her NEWTS, as well as doing all this additional work."

"Were you planning on finishing your studies as well?"

He had already written to McGonagall and inquired if he might take his NEWTS via correspondence as well.

"I'm just waiting to hear back from the new Headmistress. I can't imagine she'll have a problem with it, since I doubt she'd want me returning to finish my seventh year after everything that's happened."

Lucius frowned, but didn't reply as he could well imagine Minerva's feelings on the subject.

The witch _venerated_ Dumbledore.

"I'm sure she'll be agreeable." Narcissa tried to reassure, and while he appreciated his Mother's encouragement, even if he wasn't so sure himself. "So Paris?"

"Yes."

Narcissa pursed her lips and glanced over at her husband, seeing his own curiosity leaking out from behind his silver eyes.

"According to our solicitor, our probation does not prohibit you from escorting your intended, however, I must warn you, Draco—that until we make the formal announcements, there will be much speculation if you both are photographed together. Are you sure you're ready for such a declaration?"

"Father, whether or not I am, is beside the point. I'm to marry the witch, correct?"

At his Father's solemn nod, he forged ahead...

"She will be my wife. We've both decided to try and find some measure of commonality as a means to form a foundation. I have no doubt, if I do not at least _attempt_ to make a concerted effort, Hermione will have no problem choosing Potter as her consort, and I might be many things...but I'm not sure that's a reality I can easily abide."

"And do you think she has already chosen?" Narcissa asked.

"I think she and Potter have a history. A history, I'm fairly certain, I can't compete with."

"Why do you feel you need to compete, my Dragon? Yes, your history with Miss Alphonse is fraught with unkindness, mostly perpetrated by you—but under the circumstances, I'm not sure it could've occurred much differently. The fact remains that Pierre chose to hide her identity, and whether or not we can understand that sentiment, it does not change what has transpired. You need to try and move forward and create your own unique history with the witch. Show her the wizard you can be, not the one you were bound to be."

"Aren't they one and the same, Mother?"

"Are they?"

He pondered that question seriously.

It was true, he had a role to play at Hogwarts. He was a Malfoy, and as such could not be seen openly consorting with Mud...no...Muggleborns. ( _ **He needed to get that line of thinking out of his head).**_ Of course, his Grandfather would've never allowed it and his Father would've been even more disappointed in him than he was for coming in second every year to Granger, but that slight, however much it irked him at the time—was inconsequential to the reality of the Dark Lord's return and his indentured servitude to the wizard.

Being a Malfoy, there simply was no choice—no alternative.

Some might've seen it as cowardice, but being a Slytherin—it was a matter of inherent self-preservation. It was a lesson he'd been taught almost too well growing up.

"Perhaps you're right, Mother." He said at last, before changing the subject to why he'd originally come down here in the first place. "Hermione did indicate she was at Grimmauld Place with Potter removing the heads of former House elves and Great Aunt Walburga's portrait last evening. Did her portrait have a permanent sticking charm?"

Narcissa grimaced at the reminder of her vulgar aunt. She'd never liked the woman much, but Bellatrix had _adored_ her.

"I can confirm the story about the heads of the House Elves. _Nasty business._ The last time I was at Grimmauld Place, was right after Regulus death. There are several portraits there that had unusual charms associated with them, but I do remember one particular Black charm that was rather insidious and difficult to remove with any known magic. If dear Aunt Walburga's portrait had been fixated with such a spell, it's unlikely that the portrait could've been removed by any magical means."

"What about Muggle?"

"Excuse me?" Narcissa demanded. "What do you _mean?"_

"Well, apparently Hermione in her letter, indicated she couldn't figure out how to get Walburga's portrait off the wall, so she and Potter destroyed the wall. The Muggle way. Tore it down by the foundation."

His Father gaped comically while his Mother's eyes widened, and then she threw back her head and laughed out in glee.

Both he and his Father, stared at her in utter shock.

"Love?" Lucius drawled, "I'm not sure _why_ that is amusing."

Narcissa snickered a bit longer, before casually wiping a fallen tear from her cheek. "Oh _please_ , Luc! You remember what a wretched witch my Aunt was? Can't you just picture her screams of indignation as the wall came tumbling down around her? I might have to ask Miss Alphonse for the memory. It should make for a good laugh, if nothing else."

His Father smirked, while he continued to openly stare horrified at his Mother, who was smiling in utter mirth.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her thusly.

"Was she _really_ so horrid?" He asked lowly, and both his parents nodded together.

"Bellatrix adored her, Draco. That alone, should tell you what kind of witch she was. I may have loved my sister, but even I wasn't blind to how unhinged and manic she was. Even as children, she was not completely sane."

"That's an understatement." He deadpanned, earning a reproving glare from his Mother and a snort from his Father. He then remembered something from the other day. "Do you know of any spell or potion that might get rid of the Dark Mark or scars left from Aunt Bella's knife?"

His Mother paled at the question, while his Father coughed and shook his head in the negative.

"No. If there is such a thing, I have never heard of it...why?"

"Because when I visited Hermione a few days ago, she was at her family's lake swimming and I noticed that her scars, particularly the _mudblood_ scar...were nearly gone." He wasn't surprised by his parent's similar looks of shock. "When I asked her about it, she said it was a family secret, but didn't expound on the details."

"Did you ask for any?" His Father sat forward, his interest clearly piqued.

"Not exactly." He debated on whether or not to share with his parents about Hermione's research, but decided it was probably best to keep that information to himself for the time being.

"That's unprecedented." His Father admitted with a thoughtful frown. "And something that would be very valuable, if made widely available."

"Don't get any ideas, Father. I need to earn Hermione's trust and I'm not sure that's going to be forthcoming anytime soon, especially if I go probing for Alphonse family secrets."

"Of course." Lucius nodded, but he could see the disappointment behind his Father's gaze. "I would imagine that in due time, should your union with Miss Alphonse prove equitable for the both of you, you might become more privy to that information."

"Maybe." Was all he said, clearly not wanting to debate the matter any further. "I should retire for the evening. I will see you both later tomorrow."

"Of course." Narcissa smiled, as she watched her son stand up and walk over, placing a swift kiss on her cheek in parting then nodding to his Father. As she and Lucius watched him leave, they both were thinking the same thing.

That perhaps this marriage with Miss Alphonse to their Son, would prove even more fortuitous than they'd originally surmised.


	13. Something Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco speaks with his ancestor, who signed the blood contract and learns something unexpected.

The next day, Draco took extra care to look his _absolute_ best. The robes he'd chosen were elegant, but understated. His penchant for black aside, he'd decided to add a splash of color to his normal ensemble. Black trousers, and black dragonhide shoes polished to perfection. His dress shirt was a soft light grey that matched his eyes and his tie was Slytherin green. His cravat was a darker grey and his outer robes were black. Putting in his Malfoy cufflinks, he nodded to himself.

He wanted to make a good impression and knowing that they'd be in public for the first time together, he felt it would be important to look his very best.

As he made his way towards the floo room, several of his family portraits nodded to him, and then one called his name, causing his gait to halt.

"You look quite _dapper_ , Grandson. Off to court a witch, yes?"

"Yes, Sir." He nodded at the portrait of his Great-Great-Great Grandfather, whom through his machinations, had bound him into this position. Macrinus grinned at his descendent with a feral gleam in his eye.

"Ah! You're _not well pleased_ by this turn of events, young Draco?"

"Not exactly, Grandfather. I was hoping to court another, but now I'm relegated to this reality."

The portrait scoffed. "It's a Malfoy Heir's duty to assure the strength of the line! I know of this witch you would've bound yourself to. The young Astoria Greengrass, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then it is fortuitous that the Alphonse witch was born this generation."

"Why?" His steely gaze narrowed.

Macrinus eyed him with such intensity, he had to physically repress the shiver of dread that shot down his spine at _that_ look.

"What do you know of the _maledictus blood curse_ , Grandson?"

That question was not what he'd been expecting.

"There are several forms of the curse. One version of the curse, can force a witch or wizard into the body of another form, usually an animal of some kind. This is usually a one time curse, not inherited and it's unclear why it happens. Then, there's the maledictus curse which is meted out as payment or in retribution of an unpaid Life Debt. That curse is hereditary and will affect certain members of the family in perpetuity indefinitely."

"Correct. The Greengrass line suffers from such an affliction. Witches in their line, fall victim to the curse every few generations. The last one was Viola Greengrass, and she was to be my wife...but my Father discovered before the betrothal contracts were signed of the maledictus curse, and refused to allow the marriage to go forward. She died from the curse at the age of 23."

He paled in horror. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because there is a good chance that the Greengrass curse could very well activate _this_ generation. It has been nearly two hundred years, Grandson. Did you not know of this truth when you decided to make your overtures to the witch in question?"

"No I _didn't_ , and I'm fairly certain Father didn't know either. Why didn't you speak of it before now?"

"Because, Grandson, there were _more_ pressing issues recently to be dealt with. You weren't of marriageable age and now there is the blood contract with the Alphonse witch to consider. I only bring this up now, so you might understand that while your feelings for the Greengrass witch are understandable, you can _never_ act upon them. Even if Miss Alphonse deigns to take a consort and you have that option as well...if what I suspect is true—"

"Then Astoria likely knows, or suspects she might become afflicted?"

"Yes."

"Why would she not have told me?"

"That is a question you’ll need to ask her directly, Grandson. But for now, you have a witch awaiting your arrival, yes?"

Casting a _tempus_ , he noted the time and realized it was already a few minutes past ten.

"I have to go."

He didn't wait to hear his ancestor's parting words as he dashed for the floo, making it through with a minute to spare.

Removing the soot from his robes, he looked up into the amber gaze of his intended.

"Sorry, I'm late."

"I didn't think you were coming." Hermione's voice was hardened, causing him to sigh in resignation.

"I got... _detained_..."

Her eyes moved over his expression and body and he had no doubt she could see the tension there. He hadn't had time to shut down his emotions properly behind his Occlumency walls.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Draco? Don't _lie_ to me. I understand we barely know each other...not really, right?"

He nodded.

"But I'd like to at least _try_ , if you're agreeable."

"So I should just share all my secrets with you?" He sneered.

"No! I'm not saying that! You just looked... _you know what?"_ She shook her head in frustration, "Never mind!"

She turned to grab her beaded bag and felt a warm hand on her forearm halting her progress.

" _Forgive me,_ Hermione. I've just received some fairly upsetting news, and I haven't quite figured out how to process it, or what I'm going to do with the information."

"Can I ask whom it involves?"

He looked away and straightened his shoulders carefully, as he considered exactly how he wanted to go about this. After a moment he re-directed his attention back to the witch in front of him and inquired, "What do you know of maledictus curses?"

Hermione's eyes widened, as she gazed up at him in open curiosity. "Where is this coming from?"

"I spoke with my ancestors portrait before I came here. Macrinus Malfoy..."

"The one who signed the blood contract with my ancestor—Louis Alphonse?"

"The _very_ same."

"What does our contract have to do with a maledictus curse, Draco?"

Sighing again heavily, he took Hermione's hand and led her to the only love seat in the room, settling her in before taking the spot next to hers.

"If you would? I'd like you to humor me for a few moments, if that's alright?"

She nodded reluctantly, but her expression was expectant as she considered him—waiting...

"What do you know of maledictus curses?"

He listened whilst Hermione reiterated almost verbatim, what his response to Macrinus had been. After she was done, he bowed his head in agreement.

"That was my recollection as well. First off, I believe my ancestors portrait brought it up for two reasons. The first, is fairly straightforward. The second, is far more complicated."

"And why you're so upset?"

"Yes."

"Okay. So if I had to take a guess? The first point is due to the fact that our blood contract, which works much like the magic of a Life Debt, could possibly activate a maledictus curse if we refuse the contract and don't marry. This means we will likely subject ourselves or our future children to this curse, correct?"

He quirked an appreciative eyebrow at how intelligent Hermione was.

It was staggering, if he was being completely honest.

"Yes."

He watched, as something shifted in her gaze, her eyes becoming a bit unfocused and she bit her lip. He could almost hear the cogs in her prodigious mind whirring over the possibilities.

"Does someone you know have this curse already present, in their family line?"

His sharp intake of breath had Hermione's face falling in sudden understanding.

"It's Astoria, isn't it?"

His face fell completely, and he tilted his head down to try and get more control over his emotions. His breathing became labored and he was shocked to feel Hermione's hand squeezing his arm gently, offering him comfort.

"Is she sick?" Her voice was quiet, and he shook his head.

"I don't know. She never told me this curse ran in her family, so I have _no_ idea if she even knows or if she just chose not to tell me."

Hermione took in Draco's body language, and she could feel the distress rolling off him in waves as a pit settled in her stomach.

"Do you love her?"

Draco's head lifted sharply in surprise, and his mouth pursed in thought before he shrugged. "I care for Tori. Quite a bit actually. We grew up together and I've always adored her. I'm fairly certain however, that it wasn't love. At least not yet." He finished quietly, his eyes darting between Granger's as she silently observed him, her own expression filled with sympathy.

"And you don't want this fate for her."

It was phrased as a statement, which he appreciated. Obviously, he didn't have much positive history with Granger, but she seemed to be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in this one instance.

"No. Part of me wants to confront her and find out if she knew, but another part of me is worried..."

"That she may not even be aware of it?" She finished for him.

"Yes, that's it exactly."

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I can't even imagine how difficult this must be for you. I didn't know Daphne all that well at Hogwarts and knew of Astoria even less, but she must be a wonderful witch."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just because you think so highly of her. I'm _not blind_ , you know. I know how much you love your mother, and what you did in the war—was to protect her. I suppose if Astoria has earned your loyalty..."

"You really mean that, don't you?" He stared at her in surprise.

"I do. I'm not unfeeling."

"No, Hermione. I think it's fairly safe to say that no matter our history—you were one of the kindest witches at Hogwarts. Even with all the taunts being hurled your way, you never were downright mean nor hateful. Even to me, except when I provoked you, which in itself is rather surprising."

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't have that kind of hate and anger in me. Well, at least not unless I'm provoked to a certain point, as I'm sure both Skeeter and Umbridge can attest to." They both chuckled before she forged on. "Even during our sixth year, Draco—I could see you were struggling and it saddened me. Harry was convinced you'd taken the Dark Mark, but I wasn't as sure. I think in my naïveté, I didn't want to believe that Voldemort would brand someone so young."

"You were wrong though." His smirk was tinged with regret, "Although to be fair, I don't imagine that happens very often."

Her laughter made his heart lift a bit and he actually smiled. "I _think_ that was an actual compliment? Careful, Draco. I'm not sure I can handle such consideration from you, especially twice in one week?"

He watched amused as Hermione faux-shuddered and he chuckled deeply at how playful and different she was from what he'd remembered from school.

When he said as much, she just shook her head.

"We didn't really get the chance to see the best of each other, did we? I'm sure the Draco Malfoy, within the walls of Slytherin House, was a bit different than he was out in the corridors of Hogwarts?"

"Yes and no. My Mother mentioned to me last night that I needed to try and let you see the side of me that wasn't the one I was bound to play."

"And what did you tell her?"

"I might've asked her if they weren't one and the same."

"And are they?"

Her breath caught at the nearly haunted look on Malfoy's face.

"Honestly? _I don't know._ Some days, I'm not sure who I am anymore."

The pit in her stomach now felt like a weighted lead ballon, as she carefully considered Draco's words.

Had his life truly been as bereft of choices as hers had been?

At least her Father had allowed her _some_ concessions once she'd started Hogwarts, but many of those had been hard fought followed by tears, pleas and in one instance—threats.

"I'm sure having your choice of spouse taken away, didn't help matters either?"

"Not really. But then I've always known that my choice of a wife would be constrained to a degree."

"Due to your parents expectations?"

"Yes. Luckily, or so I'd thought—Astoria ticked all the proper boxes."

Hermione's silent shaking in mirth, had Draco's brow furrowing in confusion.

" _How is that funny?"_ He drawled, with a tinge of irritation.

"Sorry, it's just somewhat predictable is all. I believe I used those exact same words to Harry when he asked me what I thought you saw in Astoria. Granted, this was based on what I knew of you—not of her."

"In what context?"

"About what expectations you'd have for a wife."

" _Nice_." He sneered.

"It's _honest_ ," She bit back, "or would you rather I lie to you?"

" _No!_ No...I don't suppose pretending does either of us any credit."

"I agree." Looking up at the time, she stood and held out her hand for Malfoy, which he took. As he drew himself to his full height, he cocked his head and gave her a penetrative look.

"I only ask that you don't share this with anyone, including Potter."

She bristled instinctively at the haughty tone of his voice, and was going to respond scathingly when she concluded somewhat reluctantly that Draco was making a valid point.

If they were going to build a foundation, trust had to start _somewhere_ , and this was as good a place as any.

"I can promise you that."

"Thank you." He offered his arm, and she took it with a small smile. "So, Paris?"

"Yes. I won't ask if you've been."

"It's been a few years but yes, I have."

She quirked an eyebrow and then said, "Quelle est votre partie préférée du Paris magique?"

Draco tilted his head with a tinge of shock, at her perfect pronunciation of French. He shouldn't have been surprised by it, and he really wasn't...he was actually _very pleased._

"J'adore l'Enchantée de Rammelle le long de la place du cachee."

"Ses chocolats à la lavande sont mes préférés."

He grinned. "Then we will have to pick some up for you before we return home, yes?"

"I'd like that."

He nodded and escorted her through the floo, feeling himself actually looking forward to this excursion more than he'd ever expected to be.

It was a _strange_ feeling.

_**But not unwelcome...his inner voice purred with satisfaction.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translation:
> 
> “What part of Magical Paris do you prefer?”
> 
> “I adore Rammelle’s Enchanted along the Place Cachee.”
> 
> “The Lavender chocolates are my favorite.”


	14. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco spend an afternoon in Paris together, which doesn’t exactly go well.

Paris was always lovely in the summer, and for Hermione, the _Place Cachee_ held some lovely memories of her mother. Angelique had been a happy woman, who's disposition was admired by all who knew her. She was unfailingly kind and didn't discriminate, despite her blood status.

She'd felt strongly that _everyone_ had value.

She'd instilled those qualities into her daughter, and always made sure to remind her that it cost nothing to be kind.

" _ **Kindness is its own form of currency, Hermione...it will always repay you when you least expect it."**_

There were many times at Hogwarts that she'd held fast to those words. Through the taunts and sneers, she'd held onto her Mother's words like a beacon of hope, even during the darkest hours of the war. Now, as she walked arm in arm with Draco Malfoy of all wizards, ignoring the stares and whispers of passer-by's—she thought back on her Mother's words, and shook her head in wonder.

"I can hear your mind processing from here, Hermione."

She lifted up her gaze to the wizard next to her, who was watching her closely.

"Just thinking about my Mother."

Draco's expression fell briefly, before his mask came down.

"Good thoughts?"

"All my thoughts of my Mother are good ones. Sometimes when I come here, I feel a wave of nostalgia. She loved it here."

"I didn't know the Dagworth-Grangers resided in France."

"They didn't. At least not until my Mother. She went to Beauxbatons, but lived in Britain too. Her parents had a home in Knightsbridge, where she spent her summers and holidays, while she was in school."

"Why didn't she go to Hogwarts?"

"I honestly don't know. My Mother's parents moved back to Britain right after she was born, as they'd both attended Ilvermorny."

"Do you know what family you Maternal Grandmother hailed from?"

"Picquery."

"Seraphina Picquery? The former President of MACUSA?"

"Yes. She was my Great-Grandmother."

"Merlin!" Draco shook his head, completely stunned. "Do you know why your family came back to London?"

"No, what I do know was my Mother met my Father at Beauxbatons, and from what she shared with me—he was instantly smitten. He is three years her senior but by the time he'd graduated, he had already made his intentions clear."

"They sound like a love match."

"Yes." She smirked knowingly at Draco, and then quipped sassily, "I might not care for Lucius Malfoy, but even I can see he adores your Mother very much."

He smirked right back and nodded. "Oh, yes. Mother didn't care for Father at all during their early years at Hogwarts. He is two years older. During his seventh year, my Grandfather Cygnus—was approached by several families wishing to enter into a betrothal for my Mother's hand."

"So how did she end up with your Father?"

"Well, Father was a consummate Slytherin."

"No!"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Hermione."

Her giggling caused him to lift a mocking eyebrow, but he forged on.

"Father is rather adept at intimidation, so he encouraged several of his more prominent rivals to bow out."

"Blackmail, bribery or hexing?"

He gaped down at Hermione stunned, and then threw his head back and laughed out genuinely.

_Maybe his Mother had been correct about Hermione's Slytherin side._

When he glanced back down, Hermione's eyes were sparkling like fire and he just shook his head in bemusement before replying, "I would imagine all three, but I don't know for certain. However, Mother was so impressed with his cunning—that she agreed to his suit."

She quirked an eyebrow and hummed thoughtfully for several moments, a smile threatening to break free.

Intrigued, he asked, "What?"

"Your Mother is rather formidable. You do realize that it was a _test_ , don't you?"

" ** _What?!"_**

"Oh, come now, Draco? It's obvious to me your Mother liked your Father well enough, but she doesn't strike me as the kind of witch who would ever _allow_ a wizard to take control of the courting process. So she manipulated things to her liking and watched to see just how your Father would handle himself. If he removed the competition, in her eyes he would be worthy of her hand. If not... _well_..."

He stared at her completely flummoxed, as he processed what he knew from the stories his parents had shared in regards the their courtship and betrothal; and he had to wonder if Granger wasn't spot on!

"That's..."

"Something you've never considered before?"

"No."

"Well, I'm sure you're considering it _now_ , yes?"

He didn't know exactly what he was considering at this precise moment, but he was fairly certain it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with his parents.

"I never really _knew_ you, did I?" He spoke out before realizing what he was saying, and blushed slightly when Hermione smiled widely at him and winked.

"What do you think?"

"Right now, I'm beginning to wonder just how much trouble you are."

He watched closely as Hermione just side-eyed him, but she didn't respond which left him feeling even _more_ intrigued.

When they'd finally reached the 3rd arrondissement, and Flamel House—Draco opened the door and the followed Hermione inside the shop.

When he glanced up, his eyes widened at the visage of the wizened wizard smiling at him.

"Ah, a Malfoy! I haven't seen one of your ilk in over a hundred years!"

Hermione giggled again at Draco's gobsmacked expression, before she turned to Master Flamel to make the proper introductions.

"Master Flamel, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco...this is Nicolas Flamel."

The wizard scooted forward, his gait stilted and awkward but he nodded politely at the young wizard. "Welcome to Paris." He then turned to Hermione and queried, "Did you finish the reading material I gave you?"

"Most of it, Sir. I brought back a couple texts and wanted to pick up the other manuscripts we'd discussed."

"Of course." He waddled back over behind a counter to his left and pulled out two large tomes. "You can take these." Bright blue eyes landed back on Draco, before Master Flamel asked, "Hermione tells me you have an interest in Alchemy."

"Yes, Sir." He nodded, giving Hermione a quick bow of the head before re-directing his attention back to the six-hundred plus year old wizard. "My interest is purely rudimentary at this juncture, but I've done a bit of research on the panchrest."

"Ah! And what have you discovered?"

"Very little, actually. Hermione and I have discussed her theory and I have to admit, it seems like a solid one."

"I thought so too." Master Flamel hummed, as he opened up a glass case and took out a few items. "The _true_ Elixir of Life was said to have remarkable regenerative properties and as such can cure _any_ ailment. But as you can see, the Sorcerer's Stone—of which I created, extends life...but not youth. It can cure some ailments, but not certain kinds of Dark Magic. The body decays, just at a very slow rate over a longer period of time. It's not a perfect regenerative elixir."

"But fairly close." He replied and Nicolas shrugged.

"I've spent the better part of my life looking for the missing piece. What Muggles call the _silver bullet_..." Master Flamel chuckled at his own joke that he didn't get, but Hermione was smiling at the older wizard, so it would appear she got his humor as well.

"Have you had any success in narrowing it down?"

"Some." The older wizard waved his hand towards cabinet filled with books. "These are some of the basic tomes I've collected on alchemy and as such, I'm having Miss Alphonse read through them. Once she officially starts her apprenticeship, I'll have her go through some of my own scholarly works."

His eyes widened. "You mean, books you've written yourself?"

"Journals mostly, but yes."

Brows furrowing in thought, he suddenly had a bolt of inspiration.

"My Godfather left me his potions journals. There's a lot of useful information on improving the recipes for elixirs, as well as other potions."

Turning to Hermione, he could see her curiosity flare as she considered him with an eager look.

"That's amazing." She admitted with a tinge of envy in her voice that made him smirk for a split second before another thought occurred.

"Master Flamel, you said the Sorcerers Stone can't cure some kinds of Dark Magic, yes?"

Flamel nodded.

"Would you happen to know just what _kinds_ of Dark magic?"

"Some hexes and jinxes can be considered Dark, Mr. Malfoy—as it's all in the intent of the caster. However, hexes and jinxes aren't meant to render long term ill effects so in most cases, they don't cause permanent damage to the victim. Curses are an entirely differently branch of Magic and by their very nature, they're considered the most difficult not only to cast, but to control and treat. It takes a great deal of intent to cast an unforgiveable, for instance. Other curses, such as blood curses can have affects that are far reaching. But again, it's due to the intent of the original curse."

He nodded, and glanced towards Hermione—who was now watching him with an expression he couldn't define.

"However," Master Flamel droned on, "that's not exactly your question, is it? So I will tell you the Sorcerer's Stone is a _version_ of the true Elixir of Life. It's simply not perfected. Very close...and as such could cure most curses, except the damage done by unforgivables and some blood curses."

"Some?" He couldn't stop the sliver of hope that resonated in his voice, and his mind was whirring with the implications of what he could do to help Astoria, that he didn't see Hermione's expression clear in realization.

"Yes, _some_...but the longer ago a blood curse was cast the more likely the Sorcerer's Stone would be unable to offer its curative powers. It might seek to prolong the life of the accursed, but not indefinitely."

"That's interesting." He turned to Hermione, who's attention was now on one of her scrolls and he frowned slightly. "Thank you, Master Flamel."

"It's alright, young man."

Flamel said his goodbyes and he was surprised when Hermione walked out of the door before he'd even had a chance to open it for her...her body language radiating tension.

When he caught up with her, by gently halting her footsteps as he placed his hand on her arm...she gazed up at him and he immediately noticed her expression was closed off.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Hermione. I may not know you well, but I know you well enough to know when you're bothered by something."

She just frowned at him and replied evenly, "I think, Draco—that you've been lying to yourself."

"What are you talking about."

She took a small step back just out of his reach, and forged on, "You _are_ in love with Astoria. I just think you don't realize it."

His face pinched but he shook his head in the negative. "Hermione, I care very much for Astoria, but I'm not in love with her."

Her soft belabored sigh made him feel as if she was chastising his assertions.

"Draco..."

"No, Granger!" He didn't correct himself, and he saw Hermione's eyes widen at the use of the old moniker. "I may be a failure at a lot of things, but when it comes to my emotions, it's probably the one thing that..." he paused and tensed, unsure how much to reveal, but Hermione's earnest expression had him faltering...

"Look, I grew up with Tori—much in the way you did with Potter. Whereas Pansy and myself are also close, my relationship with Pansy was fraught with the fact that we are both too much alike. Too closed off, and too distrusting of everyone. Tori is open and sweet. She doesn't judge and she's a good listener. It took me years to open up to her, but then during our sixth year, I pushed her away. I didn't tell her any of the issues that I was dealing with."

"Because you didn't trust her or you didn't want to hurt her?"

"Because...I didn't want to drag her down with me. If I had told her anything, she would've tried to talk me out of it and my choice...however you want to see it? Wasn't exactly mine to make. You and Potter have something that binds you together, right?"

She nodded, seeing no reason to deny it.

"As do Tori and I. I want her to have a good life, and if that means that I need to try and find a way to ensure that happens, then that's what I'll do. If this were Potter, what would you do to save him from his fate?"

She folded her arms and glared up at him in challenge. "I'm certain, I've _already showed_ just what I was and am willing to do for Harry, Malfoy. Or were the scars and being _crucio'd_ in your home not enough of a dead giveaway."

He flinched as he looked down his nose at the witch in front of him, her face filled with that righteous indignation that made him instinctively want to say something unkind.

_But he refrained._

He just lowered his face to hers and said lowly, "Just because I didn't fight in a war with Tori, doesn't mean she's any less important to me than Potter is to you. If you have a problem with that, then I don't know what to tell you."

"I don't."

"Doesn't seem like it to me."

She moved even closer so their bodies were almost touching, as she glowered up at him.

"That's not why I'm upset." She growled.

"No?"

"No, you _great prat._ You made the decision all on your own, that you were going to use my research to help Tori. I saw it on your face. But did you even for a moment, consider asking me if I was alright with it? I asked you not to take my research as your own, but the minute Master Flamel gave you the idea...your mind was made up. _Wasn't it?"_

He took a stunted step back in shock. "You wouldn't help her?"

"That's _not_ the point, Malfoy!" She hissed. "You don't even _know_ if she is cursed, first off. But if she is, of course I'd want to help her, but you just selfishly assumed it! You weren't even planning to ask!"

"You didn't give me a chance to!" He roared back, gaining the attention of several witches and wizards who were walking by.

Shaking her head in defeat, she turned around and stormed away, leaving an angry Draco Malfoy staring after her—both wondering how in Merlin's name they were ever going to make this situation work between them.


	15. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have a hard time understanding each other, and inadvertently discover that perhaps there is more at play than just their forced betrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely reviews, kudos...I will reply soon! Hugs!

When Hermione returned home, her Father was waiting for her in the library.

"Hello, Angel." He watched with interest as his daughter plopped herself down on the chair across from him with an unhappy scowl marring her face. "I see it went well today?"

"Not funny, Papa."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she just shook her head from side to side.

"Not right now. I think I'm going to go see if Harry wants to come over."

Pierre chuckled, watching his daughter giving him the stink eye.

"Enjoy yourself." He stood up and made to walk out of the library, before turning back to his daughter and asking, "If by happenstance, the young Malfoy decides to seek you out, what should I tell him?"

"Whatever you want, Father. Far be it from me to dictate where you get your _amusement_ from."

Pierre grinned, but wisely chose to not reply as he left his daughter to stew in her own fury.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Draco came barreling through the floo and yelled 'Tinky!'

A small elf popped into view, her hands shaking as she noted her Master's ire.

"Yes, Master Draco."

"Where _are_ my parents?"

"They are in the library."

Draco threw his cloak at the elf and stormed out of the receiving room, heading straight for the library. For every step he took, his ire only seemed to seethe further into his psyche.

How could Granger have been so...so...

... _stubborn and mulish?_

_Couldn't she see that his questions and concerns were valid!_

Yes, she was right that they didn't know if Astoria had the blood curse, but wasn't it better to be prepared?

As he made his way into his family's library, his Mother gazed up with a welcoming smile which quickly turned to a slight frown, immediately noticing the state of pique he was in.

His Father didn't even bother looking up at all, he just drawled out, "I take it your outing didn't _end_ well?"

He huffed, as he sat down somewhat gracefully onto a large black leather sofa and stared morosely at his Father—who didn't seem all that concerned about his own son's precarious state of mind.

"What happened, darling?"

Turning to his Mother, he heaved a deep breath running both hands down his face in consternation, desperately trying to get his thoughts and emotions under some semblance of control.

"I don't know _where_ to start."

Narcissa glanced over at her husband, who was now watching their son with a scowl.

"Perhaps it might be wise to tell us what set off the disagreement between you and Miss Alphonse." Lucius demanded, his bored tone belying his exasperated expression.

He glared at his Father, but his Mother's not so subtle throat clearing had him backtracking a bit.

"We went to Paris to visit Master Flamel," he began succinctly, "and I spoke with him cursorily about Hermione's research. Before I left the Manor this morning, I was briefly waylaid by the portrait of Grandfather Macrinus."

Lucius lifted an eyebrow and drawled questioningly, "The one who entered into the blood contract with Louis Alphonse?"

"The very same." Draco's steely gaze settled on his Father before biting out, "Were you aware that the Greengrass line suffers from a blood malediction curse?"

By the shocked look on his Father's face, Draco was fairly certain his father had no idea.

"No. Did Macrinus share this supposition?"

"Yes, he was courting a Viola Greengrass, when the curse came to his Father's attention. The courtship ended, but not before the details of the curse were shared. Apparently every few generations, a witch from the Greengrass line becomes afflicted with the curse."

"And you surmised that Astoria might have this affliction?" His mother postulated, and he nodded.

"She's never mentioned it. If I had to guess why, I tend to believe she doesn't know."

"Or she does, but since she hasn't developed symptoms, perhaps believes she is spared." Lucius pondered aloud.

"She turns of age this December, yes?" Narcissa inquired and he nodded again.

Both his parents shared an unfathomable look, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand to attention.

"Draco," his Mother stood and walked over, resetting herself next to him as she gently patted his hand soothingly, "hereditary blood curses in most cases, don't activate until a witch or wizard becomes of age."

Paling slightly, Draco realized what his mother was telling him.

"So Tori, if she _does_ have the curse...will likely become aware of it soon?"

"Yes." Narcissa hummed in the affirmative. "My guess is that some time this summer, before she returns to school—Randolph will probably have a sit down with Astoria. Daphne must already know, as I can't imagine either of her parents would've allowed her coming of age without some preparation. You may want to start there."

He realized his Mother was likely spot on. If anyone knew whether or not Tori was aware of the curse...it would be her older sister, Daphne.

"That doesn't quite explain the state you were in when you entered the library, Draco." Lucius reminded him. "Obviously something happened with your intended?"

"I don't understand that witch!" He sneered, "She's just so... _ugh!"_

"Did you argue?" His Mother queried softly.

"Yes." Shaking his head, he threw his head on the back of the sofa and took to staring at the library ceiling, not exactly wishing to see the expressions of judgement on either one of his parent's faces. "I went to pick her up for our outing, and we had a rather pleasant conversation, I suppose. I was very nearly late, and I had to explain why that'd happened. I shared with Hermione what Macrinus told me, and she was sympathetic...or so I'd thought."

"I don't understand?" Narcissa asked with a measure of exasperation in her tone, "How wasn't she understanding?"

So he explained to his parents what had occurred in Paris. His conversation with Master Flamel, and Hermione's reaction afterwards. When he was done, there was a complete—deafening silence for several minutes and when he realized his parents weren't going to speak, he sat back up and noticed his Father's disbelieving sneer and his Mother's pitying look.

" _What?"_

"Oh, my Dragon. You really are rather _obtuse_ at times, aren't you?"

"Excuse me, Mother—but what is that _supposed_ to mean?"

"It means, Son," his Father interrupted, with a scathing drawl, "that Miss Alphonse, despite your past assignations, has chosen to give you a measure of trust by allowing you to be privy to something intensely personal to her, and without so much as discussing it with her beforehand—you made the rather bold assumption due to her past shall we say, _bleeding heart tendencies_ ; that she would be willing to focus the fruits of her labors on a witch with whom you have a dubious romantic history. Or did I _miss something_?"

He just stared at his Father sullenly, as he processed those words.

"I would have to agree, my Dragon." Narcissa sighed, and his head turned sharply towards his Mother, "You may not have done so with the design to expropriate Miss Alphonse's research, but you _did_ make the assumption, did you not?"

_Well, when his Mother put it that way..._

"I wasn't trying to be thoughtless, Mother."

"No, that just comes naturally." His Father replied dispassionately.

"Lucius!" His Mother admonished, but she clearly must've agreed cursorily, because there was no heat behind the word.

"Hermione accused me of being in love with Astoria." He admitted stiltedly.

"I would imagine from her perspective, it would likely seem that way..."

"...and she's probably with Mr. Potter as we speak." Lucius finished Narcissa's sentence, with a deepening scowl settling over his aristocratic features.

He paled instantly, as he'd not considered that possibility.

"Do you really think?"

"I would tend to agree," Narcissa shook her head at her stubborn son, "and I'm sure Mr. Potter will be far more understanding than you were today."

Well... _Fuck_...

_Perhaps he needed to try and fix this..._

At Hermione's home, Harry had come through the floo to find his best friend wearing a hole through the rug while she paced in front of him, her head down and mumbling to herself for several minutes completely unaware of his presence. He watched her closely, and could see how agitated she was.

"Hermione?"

Nothing...

"Hermione?"

More pacing...

Slowly, he made his way into her path and chuckled when Hermione slammed into him, her eyes coming up to lock with his in surprise.

"Oh...Harry! When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago." Placing his hands on Hermione's shoulders to stop her from pacing, he cupped her cheek in greeting. "You okay?"

"Not really."

"Okay?" He tilted his head in worry. "Did something happen with Malfoy?"

"Other than he's a git?"

"Well, we've known that for _years_." He wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, and together they left the floo room and headed towards the back of the Ville. "What did he do _this_ time?"

So, she explained what had transpired and how she'd handled it, and to Harry's credit, he listened and didn't comment until she was done speaking.

But when he did, Hermione was floored.

"I'm not sure I can exactly blame the ferret."

" **What?!"**

"Hermione, come on, love? I'm sure he cares for Astoria, and he was kinda hit for a huge loop, right? I can't imagine it's easy to find out the witch that you'd seriously considered to be your future, may not have one. That's gotta be tough."

"You're taking _his_ side?"

Harry shook his head as they walked into the indoor pool area, and he set the bag down that had his swimsuit in it.

"No. I'm just saying that he probably wasn't thinking too clearly. We both know that Malfoy has always been a selfish git in many ways—but when it comes to people he truly cares about, he'll do anything for them. If I was him and Astoria was _you_...I'd do whatever I could to try and figure out a way to help you."

She instantly deflated as she pondered Harry's words, while he pulled her down into his lap—sitting on a lounger near the pool. "Is there some other reason you reacted like you did?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." he paused, "I don't believe it was out of jealousy, because your dynamic with Malfoy has never been based on anything remotely romantic..."

" _You've got that right."_

Harry's lips quirked in amusement at Hermione's sarcastic tone...

"But perhaps it has more to do with insecurity?"

" **Excuse me?"** She bristled, causing Harry to cup her face tenderly, his thumbs caressing her cheeks soothingly.

"Your history with Malfoy isn't positive at all. You both have done some rather mean and cruel things to each other, but in your case, it's been in defending yourself of his actions. He's made truly hateful comments to you in the past and despite how tough I know you are, love, words hurt no matter whom they come from. Especially when that's all you've ever gotten. Now you're going to be married to the ferret. You're trying to find something good in him, and I do think it genuinely surprised you that you discovered that Draco Malfoy, actually has a heart under all that bigotry. When he was just a hateful prat, it was easier to dislike him—but knowing that he has the capacity for something selfless...it confuses you."

She carefully pondered Harry's words for a few moments, feeling his thumbs continuing their path along her cheeks as he waited for her response.

"I know he took the Dark Mark to save his Mother, but there was still a large part of him that believed in all that rhetoric too, Harry. Draco Malfoy is _not_ a good wizard."

"You've never seen him in that way, and it's not something any of us saw, love—but he's not evil. He lowered his wand up on the Astronomy tower, he didn't identify me at Malfoy Manor. Yes, he's a bully and a braggart, and many other things that a witch like you would never choose..."

"But..."

"Yes, isn't there always? But...I think he showed you today that his personality isn't as black and white as you'd assumed, and part of you greatly resents that fact. You were angry at him, not because he'd assumed, but because of your history. He didn't _consider_ your feelings and that made you go back to that gut check reaction of when he tried to make you feel lesser than. He's likely never considered your feelings at all, but especially when he was being a first class git. Whether or not he got off on your pain, I can't say. I tend to think he's probably that clueless."

"He told me today that he didn't have the luxury of choice. That he was bound to play his part."

"Do you believe that?"

"I don't know what to think or believe where Malfoy is concerned."

Harry hummed, as he gazed thoughtfully over Hermione's shoulder up towards the ceiling...the water's glare, reflecting off the masonry as the light made its way through the floor to ceiling windows.

"I think we should table this for now and enjoy our day."

She nodded eagerly. "I think that's an _excellent_ suggestion." Glancing over her shoulder she jutted her chin in the direction of the pool. "Swim?"

"Sure."

"Let me go get into my swimsuit and I'll meet you back here in a few minutes. There's a changing room over to the right, behind the door near the hot tub."

"Sounds good."

He helped Hermione to her feet and grinned as she dashed out hurriedly. He grabbed his bag, and headed for the changing area, surprised again at how opulent everything was. It was still a bit disconcerting to see how different Hermione's life was from what he'd thought, but it wasn't so difficult that he couldn't get on board with it.

_He'd do anything for her._

Once he'd changed into his swim trunks, he walked back out to the pool area and set his glasses down next to a lounger near the hot tub, and decided to check the water temperature of the pool. Going over to the steps, he dipped his toe in and smiled at the perfect temperature of the water. Not too cold, but just cool enough to be refreshing. Following the steps down into the shallow end, he sucked in a quick breath when the water hit his waistline and it took a moment to readjust himself. He guessed that the pool was probably a good twenty meters long and about ten meters wide. The ceiling was probably forty meters high and had a glass roof to take advantage of the night sky as well as the sunshine. There was a diving board at the far end, as well as a curved slide that fell into the deeper end of the pool. Where he was standing was probably a meter deep, but he could see that the far end was probably three to four meters deep.

Diving under the water, he swam towards the far end and broke water about five meters from the end of the pool when he heard Hermione's voice calling his name.

He swam over towards the pools edge and turned around, squinting before he rubbed his eyes slightly and pulling his hair back with his other hand. Hermione was walking along the edge towards where he was, and after a second he was finally able to get a better look at what she was wearing, and his eyes widened appreciatively at her attire.

He simply couldn't help the wicked smile that formed on his face, and he could well imagine he was leering openly but frankly, he didn't give a rats arse.

She was _stunning!_

"You're staring." Hermione quipped, her tone playfully admonishing which only caused his grin to widen.

"I'm _not_ going to apologize." He bantered back. "That's some bikini you have on."

_And fuck all, if it wasn't the sexiest thing he'd ever seen!_

It was red with tiny white polka dots...the top was two small triangles of barely there fabric, separated by circular appliqué while the bottoms were tiny boy shorts and when Hermione turned to set her towel down, his eyes widened at her backside—which basically left the lower part of her pert cheeks exposed.

" _Fuck!"_ He growled out lowly, but apparently his singular word was still loud enough for Hermione to hear him, if her tell-tale blush was anything to judge by.

When her gaze locked with Harry's, his expression had morphed from playful to lustful, causing her blush to deepen even more noticeably.

"You're _really_ staring." She quipped again, in a husky tone, and to his credit...he just grinned lecherously as he replied, "You're beautiful."

"Really?"

The word came out as a squeak, but there was also a questioning tone that Harry didn't like. Almost if Hermione thought she was undeserving of such praise.

"Yes." His response was quick and firm, leaving absolutely no doubt in his conviction. "But if you don't get yourself into this pool immediately, I might have to come out there and throw you in."

He watched his best friend's gaze narrow for a split second before she ran and launched herself into the pool, cannonball style as she doused him with water, the sounds of his laughter filling the room as Hermione surfaced with a wide smile.

He didn't waste a second in swimming over to her and enveloping her into his arms, bringing his lips down to meets hers in a searching kiss.

She could feel her heartbeat quicken as she allowed Harry to take control of the kiss as he moved them both to shallower water, her arms and legs wrapped were around him while her hands gripped into his wet hair tightly.

Harry for his part, had one hand cupping Hermione's chin while the other had a firm grip on her arse cheek as he rocked her into his body, his erection now fully at mast as he continued to pour his emotions into the kiss.

When air became a necessity, they both pulled back simultaneously with a shared gasp—though their lower halves continued to move against each other in a languorous push and pull.

Gazed were locked, and no words needed to be spoken between them. It seemed as if they instinctively knew what the other was thinking and feeling. Harry's heated gaze lowered to the swell of Hermione's chest as her tits bobbed above the water as he pushed her up against him and he cocked an eyebrow before lowering his head and nipping at a pebbled nipple through her swim top.

Her breathy whine of his name, had him chuckling but once he was able to nudge the barrier down—and his mouth attached to its preferred unobstructed destination...her moans only got that much more vocal.

Which was making things _very hard for him..._

So lost were the two of them in their own little world, they didn't notice that they were no longer alone until an angry voice cleared its throat and spoke out frostily...

" _Am I intruding?"_

Harry immediately turned his body to offer Hermione some modesty so his back was to Malfoy, and he could feel the irate gaze of his nemesis as Hermione quickly pulled her bikini top down—covering herself once again. When her eyes met his...there was surprisingly—amusement behind her gaze, and his lips quirked into a lopsided grin before they both turned simultaneously to their unwelcome intruder.

"Malfoy." Harry's voice held a warning edge, which wasn't missed by the two other people in the room. "And _yes_...you were intruding."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Potter! Had I known you were _illicitly_ engaged with my intended, I would've made sure to announce myself more appropriately."

Draco's words were dripping with venomous sarcasm, but Hermione could detect a note of something else underneath his tone, that she couldn't identify. Deciding to ignore it for the moment, she swam over to the edge of the pool and lifted herself out on the ladder there, purposefully not looking Malfoy's way, but Harry didn't miss the look of astonishment on the blonde's face as the length of Hermione's body came into full view.

Then iced grey eyes locked with his, and Harry couldn't help the smug grin that fell over his face.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" He asked evenly.

"That's _none_ of your business, Potter."

"You weren't invited, _ferret_ , so I'm making it my business."

Draco's hands clenched and he was about to offer a scathing reply, when they both heard a heavy sigh coming from the other end of the pool. When Draco glanced up, Granger was shaking her head as she gripped her towel and began to dry the ends of her hair.

"Harry's right, Draco. I wasn't expecting you."

"Forgive me for wanting to come by and speak with the witch I'm betrothed to."

Harry snorted, but one single glare from his best friend had him clamping his lips shut.

"You couldn't have owled me?"

"Yes, I suppose I could've, but after what happened today, I'd figured it would be better to have this conversation in person. I wasn't expecting to walk in on what I just did."

Draco watched as Hermione methodically glided over and set herself down in the lounger across from him, her head cocked to the side as she considered him. Her expression was closed off, and if he were honest, it was quite disconcerting, as he'd been so used to seeing Granger at Hogwarts and how fiery and expressive she was in everything.

In some ways, he felt like he was now dealing with a completely different witch.

"Are you looking for an apology?" She finally asked, and he visibly bristled at her brittle tone.

"Would you offer me one if I was?"

" _No_."

"Then I won't waste my breath."

In the background, Harry scoffed again and Hermione turned her head and said, "Why don't you go get changed, Harry."

The Boy Who Lived nodded, and did just that...while Draco watched him leave with a heavy frown on his face.

"So," he began after Potter disappeared behind a door, near what looked to be a smaller pool of some kind, "you've made up your mind already, I take it?"

She didn't immediately reply, as she was mulling over Draco's words. She didn't know what she wanted exactly, but she also knew that she didn't want to be forced into a loveless marriage.

"Malfoy... _Draco_..." she flinched slightly at the scowl on Draco's face, "our history isn't going to fade away overnight. You obviously care more about Astoria than you're willing to admit to, and Harry and I...well, it's _complicated_. He's important to me, and I love him. He's my best friend."

"And you're _in_ love with him?"

She bit her lip in contemplation, as even she didn't know how to form the words for what she and Harry were.

"This is so difficult..."

"Really?"

" _Yes_." She bit back at his disbelieving tone, but then the far door opened and Harry walked through it—his gaze locking with her's and he could see the discomfort in her body and feel her distress from where he was standing. Sauntering over, he ignored Malfoy's glare and sat down next to his best friend.

"What are we discussing?"

"We," Draco pointed between himself and Granger, "were having a _private_ conversation."

Harry's green eyes glinted like chipped ice as he stared Malfoy down, but Hermione's soft voice broke him out of his ire.

"Malfoy wants to know if we are in love with each other."

"Ah." Harry nodded, his own body now tense. "And what did you tell him?"

"I haven't. You walked out and, _well_..."

Nodding, Harry could well imagine how awkward the conversation had gotten before he'd interrupted. Deciding to spare Hermione from having to break any confidences, he turned to Malfoy directly and spoke...

"I love Hermione and she loves me. What we have is hard to explain, Malfoy. Sharing a tent for a year, being on the run... _sharing a wand.._." Draco's eyes widened, and then he glanced at Granger for confirmation, seeing her nod sheepishly, which caused him to sit back stunned...

"Salazar! That's _not_ common."

"No, it's not." Hermione agreed readily. "We had no choice. On Christmas Eve last year, Harry and I went to Godric's Hollow to look for the Sword of Gryffindor. Ron had abandoned us by that point, and we had no idea it was even Christmas until we'd arrived and heard singing inside the church. We were attacked by Nagini, and barely escaped with our lives but Harry's wand was badly damaged when my spell deflected off the snake. We shared my wand for a couple months until Ron returned, and then we were captured later—and you know the rest."

Draco nodded, tilting his head down in shame as he didn't need to be reminded of what happened over last Easter in his home, nor the fact that he stood by and watched his future wife being tortured by his insane aunt.

"I _am_ sorry, you know." He said slowly. "I didn't know how to..."

"Please don't." Hermione interrupted shakily. "I'd rather not discuss that day, if that's alright."

"Hermione..." Harry's voice was soft and filled with worry, but she just shook her head emphatically.

"We can't change it, Harry—and I wouldn't, if it meant you defeating Voldemort. The truth is if we hadn't been captured, we would've never discovered the location of the cup and you would've never had another opportunity to..."

"Okay..." he concluded sharply, with a nod. "I get it."

Draco gave them both a curious look, knowing instinctively he was missing something important but decided to let it go for the time being. Potter was side-eying him too, the Boy Wonder's expression held a warning edge to it.

"Anyway..." Hermione continued after a brief moment of stilted silence, "the bond Harry and I share is something that can't easily be explained."

"So maybe not a soul bond."

"Why do you ask that?" Harry wondered, but Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"Because if it were—it would likely negate my betrothal to Draco. A soul bond pretty much is the highest order of bonds...higher than even marriage Wizarding bonds."

"How would we know if that's what we're dealing with?" Harry queried, not fully understanding how that would be determined.

"A true soul bond leaves a mark or rune upon the individuals, usually once the bond is consummated but that's not always the case. In some readings, mated pairs can't be away from each other for long periods of time either, and magical cores can align."

"Do cores have to align to share a wand?"

"I honestly don't know." Draco admitted, as he stared down at his Hawthorne wand with a deep frown. He then glanced over at Potter's wand, which was the Holly wand he'd had from before. "You repaired your wand? How?"

"The Elder Wand."

Draco's eyes widened, as he hissed in a shocked breath.

"Merlin! I had wondered what happened to it. Was what you said to the Dark Lord true?"

"Yes." Harry replied, unequivocally.

"I noticed my Father returned your wand to you, Hermione?"

She nodded. "He brought it over the day he told my Father and myself, about the betrothal."

Draco gazed back down to his wand and silently handed it over to Hermione, the look on her face was priceless as she was completely caught off guard.

"What?" She blurted, and Draco shook his head.

"Potter gave me back my wand after the battle."

"He told me he was going to."

"Potter and I have both used this wand, we both for a time were masters of the Elder Wand. I'm curious just how far that extends."

Glancing over at Harry, he had a contemplative look on his face.

"Ollivander said the wand chooses the witch or wizard."

"True." Draco nodded. "Allegiances can change as you know, but in some cases a wand will refuse to bend to the will of its new master."

"Bellatrix's wand." Hermione whispered, and Harry nodded in understanding.

"It never did work properly for you."

"No, it didn't."

"But my Hawthorne wand worked for you Potter, right? And Hermione's Vinewood wand did as well, correct?"

"Yes. Not as well as my Holly wand, but well enough."

"Have you ever used Potter's wand?"

Hermione shook her head. "There was never a reason to." She stared at Draco's outstretched hand that still held his wand aloft. "You're thinking your wand may recognize me?"

"If what I'm thinking is right, then yes—I'm thinking it will."

Biting her lip, she set her wand down and reached for Draco's wand hesitantly—but the minute she closed her hand around the base...a warm feeling shot up her arm and she gasped in shock as silver sparks shot out from it.

"Cast a spell." Draco said softly and watched as Granger lifted his wand and conjured a flock of canaries seamlessly—her eyes alight with wonder. Once she vanished the birds, she handed him back his wand and picked up hers, silently returning the courtesy. Draco took it instantly and felt a tingling sensation pull in his gut, so he didn't waste anytime casting an _avifors_ , turning the chair next to him into an bird and smirked as the spell felt nearly as effortless from Hermione's wand as it had from his own.

Potter was frowning, but he silently handed his wand to Hermione and watched in bemusement as she repeated the same spell as before...her canaries coming out white instead of yellow this time. When she was done, she glanced at Harry and he nodded. Gently handing it over, Draco gripped Potter's wand and felt the power of his nemesis wand shoot up his arm. He cast the counterspell on his transfigured bird and though it didn't feel _quite as effortless_ as it had with Hermione's wand, it _had_ worked.

When he was done, Draco handed Potter his wand and watched as Harry instantly cast a _Patronus_ like it was nothing, and he couldn't help but feel jealous of the innate magical power that Potter wielded.

But that aside, he suddenly realized they had a larger issue at play.

"This complicates things." He said lowly.

"What does it even mean?" Potter asked in confusion, looking to Hermione who was lost in thought, her eyes glazed over.

"I need to head back to the Manor, but if I'm right..." Draco began hesitantly, "this is _larger_ than just my betrothal with Hermione."

"Draco!" Hermione stood up as he did, and placed her hand on his arm to stop him. "You _can't_ just leave it like that!"

"Hermione, I don't know if my hunch is correct and I'd rather not speak out of turn again, so you'll just have to be patient."

Harry stood up too, and glared at him, but Draco didn't flinch or back down. He just gently removed Hermione's hand from his arm and walked out of the pool house, leaving two very confused people staring after him.


End file.
